


Service Unit

by hulettwyo



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:29:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 41
Words: 126,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hulettwyo/pseuds/hulettwyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place just after the Angel episode ‘Damage’ then goes AU.  <br/>Spike’s hands were cut off, but that’s just the beginning of his trouble.  Will he be strong enough to survive?  And will Buffy be able to help him?</p>
<p>****WARNING****<br/>This story is graphic.  Extremely graphic.  One of my beta readers (no_promises) cautions that this story should not be read while eating.  It doesn’t simply allude to torture and sexual abuse, it describes it in gory Technicolor detail, so if stuff like that squicks you, please don’t read.  </p>
<p>For all of you that are still with me, I hope you enjoy it.  Happy reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by these lovely people – Passion4Spike, no_promises, sammigirl986, mhustler, Kicki, Willowbabble, hinaths, and wrigglerosie.  
> I would like to thank them for all their help, ideas, and the boatloads of encouragement. They are gourmet awesomesauce.

Service Unit  
Chapter One – Bargain 

Blood soaked images paraded through his mind as screams of agony rang in his ears. The star of today’s torture show was the tiny paralegal that had dropped off a stack of files about twenty minutes ago. In his mind she was chained, writhing and bleeding, as his fangs sliced and tore.

Angel groaned and leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile as the scene in his head drew to a bloody conclusion. Lately, his thoughts had been decidedly… gory. It seemed that almost anyone he laid eyes on these days moved into those chains in his mind to bleed, scream, and die. 

He glanced down at the small damp patch on the front of his slacks. One more scene like that one and he’d need a new pair. And a shower. He laid his hand on the bulge under the patch and squeezed. He hadn’t been this hard in ages. Not since the last time Angelus had been unleashed.

Angel was vaguely aware that he should maybe be a little more upset about that, that there might be something really wrong here. Maybe he should tell someone about the barbaric acts of torture he saw himself committing in his head every day and that he’d nearly shot his load without even a touch during the last session. That thought tried to gain momentum and push itself to the fore, but something was holding it back, and it withered and died before his conscious mind could grab hold. 

Angel looked at the pile of work stacked in front of him and sighed, adjusting himself as he sat forward and pulled his chair closer to his desk. He picked up a file and started reading, but no matter how many times he read the same paragraph, the words refused to make sense.

He tossed the file onto the desk with a snarl and leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his hands over his face. He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander, then smiled faintly when it ended up in ‘the room.’ The chains were currently empty, shining dully in the low light, the blood that had been coating them now gone. He mumbled under his breath as his excitement built, “Who should it be this time?” Images flickered through his mind – people from the office, people he’d killed years and years ago, current and former clients – but nobody stood out. 

He was about to give it up and get back to work when Wesley’s face surfaced, followed quickly by Gunn, Fred, Lorne, and Spike. Angel shook his head slightly, frowning for a moment. His friends – not that he considered Spike his friend, he was just a barely tolerated nuisance – had never before appeared in the chains, it had only been acquaintances… people he knew, but didn’t really have any attachment to.

That small thought that had tried to surface before tried again. * _This is wrong, Angel. Something is wrong._ * It made a little headway, getting closer to the surface this time, when suddenly it was squashed. A black, churning cloud enveloped it and sucked it back, leaving the images of Angel’s friends – and barely tolerated nuisances – cycling through his mind. 

Angel’s frown turned upside down as the images slowed and one was selected. His hand slid slowly over the bulge in the front of his pants as the chains were filled and the festivities began. 

That muscle in MindSpike’s jaw was ticking like a heartbeat as he ground his teeth together to hold back a scream, too stubborn to give his torturer the satisfaction. He glared, his eyes flickering between blue and amber as MindAngel sliced long curving gashes into his torso, but still no screams. That would not do. 

MindAngel moved down, carving a blocky pattern into the pale skin of MindSpike’s right thigh from hip to knee. That earned him a strangled whimper, and he looked up to MindSpike’s face, only to see him with his head tipped back, the tendons in his neck straining as he tried not to make any noise. _I’d forgotten just how much pain he can take, and how beautiful he is when he’s taking it. It’s been so long since…_

He stood and flipped MindSpike around so that he was facing the wall, then he considered the pale canvas laid out before him. It had been decades since he’d marked the boy, and memories bubbled to the surface of lazy days stretched out in front of a roaring fire while he amused himself with with the family’s newest member… securely bound, of course. MindAngel shuddered and the motion carried over to Angel as he sat in his office chair, his hand pressing in hard, rhythmic strokes against the thick column of flesh straining against his zipper.

MindAngel stepped forward and placed the tip of the knife against the skin over MindSpike’s right shoulder blade. The picture he was thinking of would take some time to carve, and would cover nearly all of the younger vampire’s back, but it wasn’t like either of them were going anywhere anytime soon. He got to work.

He had to hand it to the blond vampire. He’d gotten a lot tougher over the years. MindAngel was nearly done carving the detailed angel wings into MindSpike’s back before he finally gave in and started screaming. Overall, the picture had turned out well, even though MindSpike’s twitching and jerking and growling over his shoulder for MindAngel to ‘get bent’ had messed up some of the feathers, causing them to look ragged and broken.

Angel was appreciating the startling contrast of bright red blood streaking in rivulets across the pale skin of MindSpike’s ass when the phone on his desk rang. He startled violently and the hand that had been squeezing his cock flew up and knocked his blood mug onto the floor with a crash, sending ceramic shards flying every which way. He steadied himself then leaned forward and hit the speaker button with a growled, “This is Angel.”

“Where is he? I want to talk to him. Now.”

MindSpike whimpered pitifully as MindAngel flipped him back around, the raw cuts on his back scraping against the rough stone wall. Angel shuddered again then tried to focus on the voice from the phone. “Buffy?”

“Yes. Where is he?”

The images of MindSpike writhing and bleeding were making it exceptionally hard to concentrate on the conversation… and making other things just exceptionally hard. Angel knew he should know what she was talking about, but he just… didn’t. “Where is who?”

A frustrated sigh and then, “Don’t be stupid, Angel, I’m really not in the mood.”

MindSpike managed to wheeze out, _‘She’s talkin’ ‘bout me, you git.’_ and Angel leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Andrew told you.”

“Yeah, he did. And I’m sure you know how unbelievably pissed I am at you right now because you didn’t.”

“Spike asked me not to. I was just doing what he wanted.” MindSpike snorted at that, mumbling something along the lines of if Angel couldn’t have Buffy then nobody could, then he howled as MindAngel slammed a dull stake into his stomach, twisting and digging as he tried to see if he could drive it all the way through. He did, and the dulled point poked through an unsliced portion of the skin of MindSpike’s back with a satisfying pop. MindAngel jerked the stake free to another agonized howl from MindSpike, then he reached two fingers into the gaping hole in his stomach and hooked out a section of intestine, arranging it to loop artfully on MindSpike’s low belly.

Buffy chuckled bitterly. “Right. Because you’ve always done what he asked you to. You always do what **you** think is best, Angel, regardless of anybody else’s feelings.”

Angel remained silent for a moment as MindSpike begged for the pain to stop. _Finally got him to beg and I can’t even enjoy it because I’m on the damn phone._ Angel shuddered as the whispered words washed over him then said quietly, “Buffy, he wanted you to remember him as a Champion, going out in a blaze of glory as he saved the world. And he wanted you to be happy, move on with your life, that’s why he didn’t contact you.”

Buffy’s voice was strained as it floated quietly up from the speaker. “But I’m not happy, Angel, and I can’t move on because I told him and he didn’t believe me. He died not believing me.”

MindAngel clamped his hand down over MindSpike’s mouth, silencing the agonized whimpers. “Not believing you about what?”

Buffy drew a lungful of air then let it out slowly and her voice was fairly steady when she said, “That I love him. I told him and he didn’t believe me. I’ve spent every minute since then wishing I could go back… change how I treated him… tell him sooner. Maybe we could’ve had something, but I waited too long, hurt him too much, and when I finally told him, he…”

Angel tamped down a furious growl as he finished for her, “Didn’t believe you. Yeah, I got it.” A particularly vicious maneuver with the knife had MindSpike screaming in agony again as his body arched away from the wall, every muscle taut. MindAngel’s artful loop of intestine was now lost in the mass of bloody loops on the floor at MindSpike’s feet. MindAngel flicked the blade of the knife across the two sections of intestine that were still attaching the rest to MindSpike’s body and they slithered down to land on the pile with a wet sounding plop.

“So, where is he?”

Angel ignored her question and answered with two of his own, “So, you’re finally cookies? You’re all done baking?”

There was confused silence on the line for a few seconds then a quiet whisper drifted out, “Yeah, all done. And all my cookies are Spike-shaped. I know I told you that maybe someday we could… but we can’t, Angel. We both know that. I’m sorry.”

Now it was Angel who chuckled bitterly. “Yeah. Sorry.” Another agonized scream from MindSpike.

“So? Where is he?”

Angel sighed. “He’s in the infirmary. Your psycho slayer cut his hands off.” _Kind of like I just did in my head… only it wasn’t his hands I cut off. Now it’s doubly assured that he’ll never have kids._ MindAngel lifted the bloody orbs in his hand and held them where MindSpike could see, then dropped them to the floor and crushed them into paste under the heel of his boot.

“She what? Is he all right?”

Another sigh. “Yes. They’ve been reattached. He’ll be fine.” Two quick flicks of the blade earned a pair of screams as MindSpike’s nipples were removed.

“Can I talk to him?”

“No.” Pull taut, cut slowly and with deliberation, and you’ll earn the loudest, most agony-filled scream of the night. Of course, when slicing off a man’s penis, you’ll probably get the same scream whether you cut fast or slow. MindAngel held up the bloody piece of meat and waggled it in front of MindSpike’s face. _You won’t be sticking this in Buffy ever again, Spikey-boy._ He poked the blade of the knife through the thickest part until it was pressed crosswise against the hilt then he gripped the handle and drove the blade deep into the center of the bleeding stump he’d left behind. Huh, what do you know? That got another scream. 

“Why the hell not? You can’t keep us apart, Angel. You’re just gonna have to deal with it. Now put him on the damn phone!”

MindAngel picked up another knife then looked over the bloody, battered body hanging against the wall, trying to find something to use it on. MindSpike’s tongue slipped out, licking a drop of penis blood off his lip, and MindAngel grinned. “He can’t talk because he’s unconscious, Buffy.” _And because I’ve just cut out his tongue._ MindAngel held up the slippery bit of flesh and his grin widened as he tossed it over his shoulder. It hit the wall across the room with a wet splat then slid slowly down to the floor.

MindAngel licked the blood from the blade as Angel said, “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll let him know you want to speak to him when he wakes up.”

“I’ll come to LA.”

Angel scowled as a shudder worked its way through him. Seeing Buffy suddenly seemed like a very, very bad idea. “No. Just stay there. I’ll have him call you.”

“Wait. Don’t you have a company jet or something? Can’t you just send him over here?”

“What if he doesn’t want to see you?” MindSpike’s screams had taken on a distinct gurgling quality because of the whole no tongue thing and MindAngel smirked. _Because, let’s face it… seeing you might be kind of hard to do when his eyeballs are rolling around on the floor._ MindAngel caught one of the eyeballs gently under the toe of his boot then pressed down until he felt it pop. Cloudy goo shot out and MindAngel lifted his foot to look at the mashed mess. He could still see just a bit of blue so he stomped his toe down and twisted, grinding it into the stone. He bent down and picked up the other eyeball, bouncing it in his palm as he wondered just how many parts he could remove before MindSpike dusted.

Buffy snorted. “This is Spike we’re talking about. Undead stalker-boy, remember? He spent a lot of time trying to give lung cancer to the tree outside my house just so he could see me. So, either I’m coming to LA or Spike’s coming to Rome. Take your pick.”

Angel stopped trying to hold back the growl. “You can’t force him, Buffy.”

“I won’t have to force him. I love him. He loves me. It’s just that simple. Besides, I figured you’d be glad to get rid of him, considering that you two can’t stand each other.”

“No, we can’t, but…” _I’ve suddenly found him to be very… entertaining. Wonder if Wolfram and Hart has any vacant dungeon rooms?_ MindAngel stepped forward, popping the eyeball with his thumb as he did. He made sure the blue was obliterated then tossed the ruined husk over his shoulder to land next to MindSpike’s tongue. He lifted the knife and made two sure cuts, holding the freed flesh in his other hand. He was amazed that MindSpike could still scream, but scream he did, even around the two detached ears MindAngel had just stuffed down his throat.

“Oh, I get it… you complete asshole. You’re so selfish that you’d rather have all of us be miserable and alone just because you don’t like Spike and can’t stand the thought of him being with me. You and I are done, Angel, and if we weren’t already, your attitude right now would’ve sealed that deal. We can’t ever be together, so just send Spike to Rome so I can talk to him. If he doesn’t want to stay, he doesn’t have to, but I want to see him in person. I want to tell him in person.”

The silence drew out for several seconds as MindSpike writhed weakly in his chains. Sadly, there weren’t any more screams… having your vocal cords slashed will do that every time. MindAngel stood quietly, licking blood from his fingers. When they were clean, he dipped them deeply into the bloody gash across MindSpike’s stomach then brought them back to his mouth.

Angel was just about to speak when there was a flash of light and a slim, white-haired, wizened old man appeared in a puff of purple smoke. Angel blinked owlishly as he tried to figure out if this was really happening or if it was another MindScene. The old man leaned heavily on a knarled staff as he took a few pained steps forward and rested his hand on Angel’s desk. His coal-black eyes glinted evilly as he breathed out almost silently, “It is time, Angelus.”

Angel tried to speak, only to find that his voice seemed to have deserted him. _But **my** vocal cords haven’t been cut. _ He cleared his throat and tried again. “Uh… Buffy… let me call down to the infirmary. Hang on.” He punched the hold button then pushed his chair back away from the desk, scrambling to his feet as the MindRoom faded into blackness.

The old man chuckled. “You remember me. That is good. It has been so long, I was sure you had forgotten our bargain.”

Angel croaked, “Bargain?”

The man smiled. “Do not play coy with me, vampire. You know exactly why I am here. I fulfilled my end of our bargain a century ago and now the time has come for you to fulfill yours. Ten years of service, Angelus. That is what you agreed to and I am here to collect. Let us go.”

Angel shook his head. “I can’t. Not now. Not for that long.”

The man’s eyes flashed. “You do not have a choice. You agreed to ten years. It is not that long a time when compared to how long you have already lived.” He looked Angel over, his eyes pausing for a few long seconds on the sizeable bulge still tenting the front of his pants, then he smiled again. It was not a nice smile. “You will do very well, I think.” 

That smile caused Angel’s cock to deflate rapidly and he shook his head. “No. I can’t. I have people here that depend on me and I’m under contract with the Senior Partners. I can’t just leave for ten years. I know we had a deal, but…”

The man cackled wickedly, “Oh, you have forgotten!” His eyes sparkled with glee. “You have no need to worry for your people or your contract, Angelus. You will fulfill your end of the bargain in my home dimension, but in this dimension, you will only be gone for three days. Your people and your employer will most likely not even miss you, although they may notice how you’ve _changed_ upon your return.” The man held out his hand to Angel. “We must go.”

“Three days? That’s all?”

The man’s smile was so evil that it made Angel’s demon cringe in terror. “Here, yes. There… no.”

Angel backed up a step, his mind whirling madly as he tried to figure a way out of this. He contemplated the throwing axe hanging on the wall near his hand then jumped slightly at the amused chuckle from the old man. “Even if you succeeded in killing me, the bargain would still stand, Angelus. Another would be sent to collect.”

Angel frowned then shrugged his shoulders. “It was worth a shot.” He looked desperately around the office and his eyes fell on a stack of files perched on the corner of his desk. Contracts. Mind numbingly boring contracts that he had to read through because they were being renegotiated. Angel’s eyes lit up and he smiled. “I want to renegotiate the bargain.”

The old man’s eyes flashed again. “You cannot. The bargain requires that you serve the full ten years. It cannot be lessened. There is nothing to negotiate.”

Angel sat back down in his chair with a smirk. “There’s always something that can be negotiated. I understand that you’re firm on the length of time, but what about me? Do I have to be the one to serve? What about a replacement? We have several demons locked up downstairs. You could take your pick. Hell, take two.”

The man seemed to consider for a moment then shook his head. “No, the bargain would not allow that. The bargain was struck with you, a Master Vampire of the Aurelian line. Only another Master Vampire of your line would be able to fulfill the bargain in your stead.”

Angel watched the blinking light on his phone as the wheels in his head turned. _Damn… just when I finally figured out what Spike’s good for. Oh well… better him than me. He’ll finally be of some use._ He looked up at the man with an evil grin of his own. “I think that can be arranged. Please give me a minute.” He scrubbed one hand over his face and picked up the handset as that thought from earlier tried to wiggle its way free. _This is WRONG! You can’t do this to Spike! He’s a Champion! YOU made the bargain, not him! This is WRONG! Don’t do this!_ Angel’s finger wavered slightly over the button as the thought was tackled and beaten into submission, then he stabbed the button with a little more force than was strictly necessary. “He can’t travel, Buffy. Not yet.”

“Fine. He can’t travel, but I can. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

Angel gripped the arm of his chair almost hard enough to punch his fingers through the leather. “No. I don’t want you here. Give him a week to heal and I’ll have him delivered to your doorstep.”

“Fine. One week from this minute, Angel, or I’m coming over there… and I’m bringing Mr. Pointy.” 

The phone clicked in his ear and he dropped the handset back into the cradle with a snarl then looked up at the old man. “Let’s go collect your vampire.”


	2. Chapter Two - Therapy

Thank you all for the great reviews!  I’ll try to respond to them when I get time. 

*whispers*  If you keep them coming, they feed my muse and he wants to write more.  He eats them up like chocolate cake.  

 

I’m still writing this story, but unless real life rears up and bites me in the backside, I should be able to update it every three days. 

 

Service Unit

Chapter Two - Therapy

 

A quick word with a nurse down the hall from Spike’s room was all it took to secure a syringe loaded with enough sedative to bring down an elephant.  Angel pushed open the door and strode purposefully inside, followed by the old man who shuffled in after him and moved to the corner, leaning heavily on his staff. 

 

Spike blinked sleepily at Angel and slightly wiggled his fingers as he mumbled, “’Ello, Peaches.  What brings you down?  Nurse Ratched out there just shot me up, so I’ll probably nod off on you… might want to make it quick.”

 

Angel stepped up to the side of Spike’s hospital bed.  “Just got a call from Buffy.  She knows you’re back and wants me to fly you to Rome so you two can… talk.”

 

Spike smiled loopily and shakily raised his heavily bandaged hands.  “Not up for much _talkin’_ just now.”  He dropped his hands gently to the bed and looked up at Angel, trying to keep his eyelids from slipping closed.  “Buffy wants to see me?  Really?”

 

Angel laid his hand gently on Spike’s shoulder, blinking suddenly when the image of that same shoulder flayed open to the bone flashed briefly in his mind.  “She told me that she loves you, and if you don’t go there, then she’s going to come here.”  He dropped his voice to a whisper.  “If you don’t want to see her, I can probably keep her out of the building.”

 

Spike shook his head, groaning quietly as the room spun woozily around him.  “No… want to see her… bloody love her, Peaches… you know that, you thick sod… jus’ need to rest a bit… then I’ll go.”  His eyes closed completely as his body relaxed into the bed and Angel just barely caught the whisper, “Buffy loves me.”

 

Angel quickly injected the sedative into Spike’s arm then turned to the old man in the corner.  “That should keep him out for a while… probably until he’s healed.”

 

The old man stepped toward the bed.  “And you understand that he will bear the full weight of your payment?  Everything that you agreed to, he will now fulfill?”

 

Angel nodded.  “Yes.  You get him for ten years and I get him back in three days.  Right?”

 

The old man nodded.  “He can be brought back here or I can have him delivered to this Buffy that you speak of.”

 

Angel looked over Spike’s inert form, seeing shadows of the injuries he’d inflicted on MindSpike.  He blinked suddenly as the realization hit that if Spike was brought back here then he definitely wouldn’t be in any condition to fly to Rome because Angel wouldn’t be able to help himself.  The compulsion to drag Spike to the dungeon and chain him was already becoming almost too strong to resist.  “She’s not expecting him for a week… but I guess he could be a little early.”

 

The old man cackled, “Or I could keep him.”  He looked Spike over appraisingly.  “I’m sure he’ll be very popular.  Once the ten years has been served and your debt paid, any earnings above that could be split between us.”

 

“Earnings?”

 

The man cackled again, “Oh yes.  I’m sure this one will fetch quite a price, once his training is complete.  We could both be very rich.”

 

Angel shook his head.  “I’ve got money.  More than I’ll ever need, but… maybe something else?”

 

“What would you like, Angelus?”

 

_What I’d like is to chain him… make him scream for me… but since I can’t…_   “I want to see his training and his service.  You do have some way to show me that, don’t you?”

 

The old man’s eyes spun with glee.  “Yes… yes… I can show you… everything.”

 

“Good.  That’s what I want.”  Angel picked up a pad of paper from the bedside table and scratched something down on it then handed it to the old man.  “This is where he’s to be delivered.  No later than one week from right now.  And don’t worry about making him all pretty for her, just give him to her when the time’s up and make sure she knows that he’s a gift from me.”

 

The man took the paper and secreted it into a fold of his robe.  “It will be done as you have asked.”  He slipped his hand into his sleeve then removed it and touched something to Spike’s forehead.  He turned slightly and held it out to Angel.  “This will allow you to see.” 

 

Angel held out his hand and the man’s fingers opened and then Angel was looking down at a small crystal resting on his palm.  “How do I activate it?”

 

“Simply say ‘Let me see,’ then whatever it is you wish to see, and it will show you.”

 

“What about sound?  Will I be able to hear what’s going on?”

 

“Yes.  Sound is part of the package, Angelus.  I wouldn’t want you to miss anything.”

 

Angel nodded and slipped the crystal into his pocket.  “All right.  Do you need some help out with him?”

 

The man cackled again and stepped closer to the bed, laying his hand on Spike’s stomach.  “No.  It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Angelus.”

 

Angel nodded.  “Yeah.  Hope I never see you again.”  He laid his hand on Spike’s arm then leaned down and whispered, “Be ‘seeing’ you, William.  Have fun and tell Buffy hello for me.”

 

The cackling echoed around the room long after Spike and the old man had disappeared.

 

XX

XXXX

XX

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!  Yes, Spike, the doorbell works.  God, I forgot how annoying you can be.”  Buffy wrenched open her front door, wearing a blinding smile because she fully expected to see a bleached blond, smirking vampire leaning against the door frame.  Her smile wilted and was replaced by a look of confusion.  “Who the hell are you?”

 

The small, yellow-skinned demon standing beside a large wooden crate blinked his several sets of eyelids then stammered, “Buffy Summers?”

 

Buffy grinned, “Hey, that’s my name, too!”  The demon’s sputtering was kind of cute, but it got annoying pretty fast.  Buffy sighed, “Ok… yes.  I’m Buffy Summers.”  She reached down and patted the top of the crate.  “What’s this?”

 

The demon blinked again then pulled out a clipboard and flipped a few pages.  “One service unit, three cases of sustaining fluid, one case of toys and miscellaneous supplies, the unit’s records, and the instruction manual.”

 

Buffy looked over the huge crate.  “Unit?  Supplies?  Toys?  Huh?  Um… I didn’t order anything.”

 

The demon slipped his clipboard under one of his six arms and laid a hand with claw-tipped fingers on the crate.  “It is a gift from Mr. Angel.  Where would you like me to put it?”

 

Buffy sized up the demon and the crate then stuck her head out the door and looked for any other demons standing around the hallway.  There weren’t any.  “Um… do you want some help?”

 

The demon smiled and shook his head.  “No, thank you.  Where would you like me to unpack the crate?”

 

Buffy backed up and motioned toward the living room.  “Um… I guess in here will be okay.”

 

The demon nodded and tapped the top of the crate with a claw.  The crate shuddered and rose several inches off the floor then floated serenely into the living room and landed with a thump on the rug in front of the couch.  The demon followed it in then circled it, dragging his claw along the edge.  He tapped the top and the lid lifted off then floated over toward the door and leaned itself up against the wall.  The demon lifted out the large piece of foam material from the top of the crate and Buffy gasped, her eyes huge as her hand flew up to cover her mouth.  “What the hell is that?  A person?  Angel shipped me a person?”

 

The demon reached down into the crate and started removing several smaller crates that were stuffed into the space below the person’s feet.  He lined them up on the floor next to a chair as Buffy looked over the person in the box.  He was curled up on his side with his knees drawn up to his chest, and yes, it was easy to discern gender what with the whole completely naked thing happening.  His arms were bound behind his back with thick leather wrist cuffs and his head was completely covered in a thick black hood. 

 

His pale skin was mottled with numerous bruises, welts, cuts, scratches, and punctures, some partially healed and some fresh.  Buffy looked at the demon in alarm.  “What happened to him?  Why is he all beat up?”

 

The demon set down the crate he was holding and looked up at Buffy, blinking several sets of eyelids.  “It would seem that the unit’s last renter wanted to get as much use from it as he could before his lease was up.  I do apologize for its condition, but I assure you, it will be healed in no time and will be ready and eager to serve.”

 

Buffy squeaked, “Serve?  Serve what?  What the hell are you talking about?”

 

The demon motioned to the couch.  “Perhaps you would like to have a seat while I unpack the unit, then I can give you a demonstration and show you some of its features.  I will also need to instruct you on proper care and maintenance.”

 

Buffy nodded slowly and backed up to the couch, dropping down onto the cushion in shock.    _This has got to be some kind of freaky dream.  I must have dozed off while I was waiting for Spike and this is what my exhausted brain came up with.  Guess I’ll just go with the flow for right now and see what happens, and then when I wake up, the first thing I’m going to do is make an appointment with a therapist… ‘cause this is just… really therapy-worthy._

 


	3. Chapter Three - Demonstration

I know this is a day early, but… it’s after midnight somewhere, right?   
I have seventeen chapters completed and I’m working on this nearly every day, and barring a case of writer’s block, I shouldn’t make you guys wait for updates. *fingers crossed*

Note: This is one of those ‘don’t eat while reading’ chapters, so be warned…

Service Unit  
Chapter Three – Demonstration

The demon pulled something small from his robe then leaned into the crate near the man’s head. He straightened then reached into the space near the man’s back and pulled out a long, black stick, similar to a riding crop. The demon used the stick to tap the man on the hip and shoulder and he rose gracefully to his feet, even without the use of his hands. Buffy watched with wide eyes as the demon tapped his right knee and right hip and the man stepped easily out of the crate and onto the rug directly in front of her. The demon floated the crate out of the way, but it was an action that Buffy failed to notice because she was too busy staring.

Yeah… he was **definitely** male. There was no mistaking that now, not with his ‘boy parts’ on full display right in front of her face. She leaned over and squeaked at the yellow demon. “Why is he wearing… uh… that… whatever it is… on his… um…”

The demon dug in one of the small crates it had removed from the shipping crate and pulled out a thick binder, setting it on the couch next to Buffy. “That is a wrap and ring. The wrap is mostly decorative, but the ring at the base is used to keep the unit erect, and at the same time, prevent release. Some renters prefer their units unbound, some do not. It would seem that this unit’s previous renter preferred it bound as I retrieved it in this condition just a few hours ago for shipment to you. I was made to understand that you wanted immediate delivery and could not wait until the unit was healed and prepared to your specifications. I do assure you, however, that the previous renter cleaned the unit thoroughly, inside and out, as the contract stipulated.”

Buffy nodded vacantly then eyed the bound member in question. It was wrapped in a weave of thin leather strips, but she could still see that it was an angry shade of purple as it jutted out proudly from the slim, lithe form of its owner. A shiny metal ring at the base was tight against the flesh and was connected to another web of leather strips that tightly encased the sac. “It looks like it hurts.”

The demon shrugged. “It does, but this unit’s pain tolerance is quite high. You’d be surprised at what it can endure. Most of its renters have been… well… less than gentle.”

The demon startled her when he stepped up next to the man and tapped him twice on the right shoulder then once on the back of his neck just below the hood. The man turned around then gracefully sank to his knees and bent at the waist, settling his forehead on the floor. His backside was now raised in the air, again directly in front of Buffy, and she scooted back on the couch, pulling her legs up as the demon moved around him and took up position next to his rump. “This is a pleasure unit, one of our very best – I trained it myself – and I’m sure you will enjoy it for many years. One of its main features is its ability to heal to a pre-use state within a matter of hours, no matter the size of the instrument or appendage used on it.” The demon reached out and pulled something out of the man’s backside then held it for Buffy’s examination. “This plug should be in place anytime the unit is not in service.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable as he continued, “And if you keep it filled with our specially designed lubricant,” he lifted a small lid on the end then tipped it slightly, letting a drop of clear fluid drip out into his palm, “then the unit will always be ready for use, no preparation required.” 

Buffy’s eyes trailed from the plug in the demon’s hand up to where he’d removed it from. The man’s entrance was raw, torn, and swollen, and Buffy drew in a quick breath. The demon noticed where her eyes were trained and smiled. “Don’t worry, it will be healed soon. It would seem that the previous renter got his money’s worth.”

He let the plug drop and Buffy’s eyes widened even more as it swung from a silver chain that was attached to the web of leather strips around the man’s balls. “As you can see, it is attached to the unit so it cannot be lost. If you prefer the unit unbound, however, we have included a thigh strap to attach it to.” He reached between the man’s legs and retrieved the plug, pulling sharply on the chain as he lined up the tip and swiftly inserted it, ignoring the flinch of the taut buttocks around the abused hole. “Of course, if you’d rather not use the plug, preparation is still not necessary due to the healing properties of this unit.” He tapped the plug twice and the man jerked slightly then seemed to cringe, like he was expecting a blow. The demon ignored the movement and reached into the crate that he’d set next to his feet. He pulled out a small remote control and held it out to Buffy. She looked at it like it might grow teeth and bite her, then slowly reached out and took it from him. “The top button turns it on and off, and the bottom two buttons increase or decrease the intensity.”

Buffy looked from the remote in her hand to the man then at the demon. “Turns what on and off?”

“This.” The demon tapped the plug again, harder this time, and the man flinched. Buffy dropped the remote like it had just caught fire and the demon scooped it up, his several eyes sparkling with… something. “I will show you.” He pressed the top button and a low buzzing noise started up from the plug. The man tensed and flexed his fingers as the demon repeatedly pushed one of the lower buttons on the remote, making the buzzing noise louder. The man was trembling when the demon pocketed the remote and tapped him on the back of the neck again. The man rose shakily to his feet then turned around to face Buffy when the demon tapped him on the shoulder twice. Now the bound erection was even more purple and was slowly leaking fluid from the tip. The demon tapped it sharply with the stick and the man jumped and sucked air through his teeth in a hiss. “You can see the effect the plug has on the unit. During testing of the plug, I was able to keep this unit in a heightened state of arousal for close to a month before it finally collapsed.”

Buffy slowly nodded, her brain frittering off to ‘this cannot possibly be happening in my living room so it MUST be a dream’ land, as the demon continued. “This unit’s stamina will serve you well, madam. It has been quite sought after since it was introduced, servicing clients of varied species and genders, so please do not think that it can only service males. It is quite experienced in servicing females as well.” He tapped the man in several spots and the man knelt down then started thrusting his hips in a rhythm as old as time itself. The demon let him continue for a few minutes then tapped him again and the man sat on his feet then fell gracefully backwards, resting his shoulders on the floor so that his bound erection stood almost straight up from his body. The demon tapped it sharply and the man jumped. “It can hold this position for days, and if you keep it bound and the plug turned on high, you can use it as long as you like and as many times as you like with no ill effects to the unit.” He motioned toward one of the small crates. “Its toy kit also includes several different rings, some of them with vibrating capabilities for… added stimulation.”

The demon continued the demonstration, oblivious to the obvious detachment of his audience. With a few more taps, the man was again kneeling in front of Buffy with his backside raised, the plug still buzzing away. The demon explained how much use the unit could endure before it had to be rested then he displayed a series of different toys. 

Buffy couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even think. She was sitting on the couch in a complete state of horrified shock as two sentences kept circling her brain. _Angel sent me a sex slave. Please let this be a dream._

The man, meanwhile, was trembling even harder because the demon had upped the intensity of the plug several more notches and his hands were clenched into fists where they were bound together at his low back when the demon pulled a large, thick dildo from the toy box and held it up. It was easily as big around as Buffy’s upper arm and was about the length of her forearm. She watched in wide-eyed horror as the demon swiftly removed the plug, still buzzing as it swung from its chain, then slammed the dildo home. The man raised his head off the floor, his throat muscles straining like he was trying to scream as his back arched into a taut bow. 

The demon launched a vicious strike from the stick to the man’s bound balls, and even from behind him, Buffy could see his jaw drop as his mouth opened in an agonized scream, just with no actual sound. The demon raised the stick to strike again and Buffy was instantly on her feet. She whipped the stick out of the demon’s grasp and shoved him violently across the room. “What the hell are you doing?” She dropped the stick, wiping her hand on her jeans as she stalked across the room to where the demon lay in a heap on the floor. “What the hell is all this? It’s not a dream, is it? This is really happening!” 

The demon nodded and she wrapped her fist in his robe and jerked him to his feet then just held him motionless. She looked back over her shoulder at the sex slave kneeling in her living room then closed her eyes. Several deep breaths later, that did nothing at all to quell the rage surging through her; she opened her eyes and dragged the demon to a nearby chair, hissing furiously into one of his many ears. “You are going to sit right here and explain all of this shit. Absolutely all of it. You are going to tell me why the hell Angel sent me a sex slave and you are absolutely not going to touch that man any more. You make one move I even kind of don’t like and I’ll find some interesting places for every single one of those disgusting **toys**. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

The demon nodded and shrank back into the chair, all his eyes wide and frightened. Buffy growled at him, “Don’t even think about moving from that spot,” then she stalked back across the room and stepped behind the man. He’d lowered his forehead back to the floor and was breathing deeply, taking great lungfuls of air as he tried to manage the severe pain he was in. 

She reached out to stroke lightly along his forearm from elbow to cuff as she murmured, “It’s okay… I’m gonna take this out now, so just keep breathing and it’ll be over in a minute, okay?” There was no vocal response from the man, not even a nod of his head. All he did was tense slightly at her touch. He was still breathing deeply, although he seemed to be trying to get it under control. Buffy figured that was all the response she was going to get and reached down, gritting her teeth as she wrapped her hand around the base of the dildo and slowly slid it out of him.

She blanched at the blood covering the thing then tossed it into the toy crate with a disgusted grimace before she glared across the room at the cowering demon. “Is that,” she waved at the crate, “a normal part of your demonstration? Do you **rape** him with that thing every time he goes to a new renter?”

The demon shook his head and stammered, “No, madam. Most renters already know what the unit’s capabilities are. It actually has several regulars that lease its services. I only perform a demonstration for renters that are unfamiliar with this species.”

Buffy shuddered and turned away from the demon, her stomach clenching in revulsion. She knelt next to the man’s head and reached out to lightly stroke his shoulder and upper arm. “Hey… can you sit up?” He didn’t move, except to tense slightly… again, although his breathing wasn’t quite as labored. Buffy looked at the demon over her shoulder. “Why won’t he move?”

The demon blinked all his eyes. “It’s wearing a sensory deprivation hood, so it cannot hear, see, or smell, and the way you’re touching it doesn’t convey a proper command so it doesn’t know what you want it to do.”

“So how do I get him to sit up so I can take the stupid hood off?”

“Tap once on its hip then once on its ankle. That will bring it to a sit-kneel.”

“Do I have to use the stick or can I just use my finger?”

“Your finger will suffice; just make sure to tap sharply.”

Buffy nodded. “Right.” She leaned forward and tapped her index finger on the man’s hip then tapped his ankle. The result was immediate. He lifted his torso and sat back on his feet with his shoulders pulled back and his head bowed. His erection was still painfully purple, but had stopped leaking, and the plug was skittering around on the floor between his legs, still buzzing loudly. Buffy looked over her shoulder again. “Turn that damn thing off.”

The demon hurriedly fished the remote out of his pocket and pushed the power button. The resulting silence was broken only by the man’s ragged breathing. He was completely tense, his muscles tight and thrumming like he was being electrocuted. 

Buffy was trying to decide what she should remove first… the cuffs, the hood, or all the crap encasing his nether region. “What should I take off first? I don’t want to wig him out any more than he already is or cause him any more pain if I can help it. Maybe I could take off the hood and cuffs and then he could get the rest of it?” 

She turned to look at the demon then frowned when he shook his head. “Units are not allowed to touch or manipulate their equipment. I tried to train that into this one, but it was extremely difficult in that regard, so I decided to restrain it instead of wasting precious service time on training that was accomplishing nothing.”

Buffy screeched, “How long has he been cuffed like that?”

“It has been restrained like **that** for approximately seven weeks, but it has been restrained in other fashions for as long as it has been in service.”

Buffy’s hands clenched into fists as she tried to keep herself from snapping and flinging demon innards all over her living room. “And the hood? How long has he been wearing that?”

The demon stammered, “Uh… its final renter had contracted for a three week lease… so it’s been that long for the hood and the ring and wrap, although that’s a fairly short amount of time for this unit. It was once contracted for a two year lease and wore the hood for the duration, and the longest it’s been bound was for a solid six months.”

Buffy was finding it harder and harder to keep from ripping that nasty little demon to shreds. She took a deep breath then unclenched her fists and flexed her fingers. “Okay. First thing, I’ll get the hood off and go from there.” She stood up and leaned down, looking for a zipper on the back or something, but the hood was smooth all over. She reached under the man’s chin and gently tipped his head back to get a closer look at the front. It sort of resembled a fencing mask because of the slightly curved shape that started at his hairline and stopped just under his nose. The bottom half of the mask was molded to the man’s face, solid everywhere except for a slit the exact width of his mouth. Buffy’s thumb gently tapped a bottom lip that was clearly defined under the tight fabric and the man immediately opened his mouth as wide as he could, the fabric moving with him like a second skin. Buffy spoke over her shoulder in alarm, “Why is he doing that? And where the hell is the zipper or whatever?”

“Your touch conveyed the command for oral service, and there is no zipper. The hood is installed magically and requires a spell to remove.”

Buffy looked at the man kneeling in front of her with his mouth open, his tongue scratched and abraded. _God! I didn’t think it was actually possible to **bruise** your tongue!_ She realized that his lips would be swollen and most likely split if they hadn’t been protected by the hood and her stomach clenched. “Oh God. How do I get him to close his mouth?” 

“Tap it on the top of the head.”

She reached out and tapped lightly on the man’s head and his mouth snapped closed. Buffy took another deep breath and turned to the demon. “Can you get the hood off?”

The demon nodded. “Anyone can. The spell is in the instruction manual, page eighty-five.” He pointed to the binder lying on the couch and Buffy moved over and picked it up.

She flipped open the binder then almost dropped it. The page she’d opened to showed a picture of the man bent over a table, restrained and hooded. The demon currently sitting in her living room was standing beside him, smiling widely as he pointed to the huge dildo that was protruding from the man’s backside. There was blood streaming down the man’s legs, and even though the picture was kind of small, she could see the man’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white from the strain. She quickly checked the page number then flipped a few pages past it, only lifting the rest of them far enough to see the page numbers until she’d found the right one.

The spell page had a picture of the hood, not on the man, but on a dummy head. It explained the properties and uses and listed the spells to install and remove it. Buffy looked over at the demon incredulously. “That’s it? I just say these five words? What happens?”

“The hood will dissolve.”

Buffy looked over the words again then stepped up in front of the man. “Free the senses. Remove now.” Nothing seemed to happen for the longest time, then Buffy noticed that the hood seemed to be fading, the solid black turning into a dark gray then a lighter gray before it dissolved altogether. The man hadn’t moved at all during the procedure, but Buffy’s heart had started trying to pound its way out of her chest as the man’s features were revealed. She reached out and gently cupped his face, sliding her thumbs lightly over his razor-sharp cheekbones as she whispered quietly, “Oh God… Spike.”


	4. Chapter Four - Open

I want to thank everyone for the awesome reviews! I know, I’m horrible about responding to them, but I just don’t really know what to say other than “Thanks for reading and I’m glad you like it!” And I should probably say, “Please don’t hate me for how mean I’m being to Spike. Honestly, it’s not me; it’s my evil, therapy-needing muse. I swear. He loves torturing the poor guy and I do my best to force him to let Spike receive some comfort, but as they say… It’ll get worse before it gets better.”

Service Unit  
Chapter Four – Open

Buffy spun to face the demon cowering in the chair. “What the hell have you done to Spike?”

The demon sputtered in fear at the rage rolling off the small woman. “You are acquainted with this unit?”

Buffy had her hand fisted in the front of his robe and had jerked him out of the chair before he could blink. “Yeah, I know him. How did you get him?”

“It was given into service twenty three years ago and my employer assigned me as its trainer.”

“Given? By who? And that’s not freaking possible! He was in LA **last week!** Seven days ago! You said he’s had two year leases and six months of whatever… How is that possible?”

The demon quivered and looked down at the hand tearing a hole in his robe. “Madam, I will explain everything. Kindly have a seat and I will answer any questions you have.”

Buffy released the demon with a shove and he toppled back into the chair. “Nope.” The demon relaxed slightly and Buffy snarled, “Oh, don’t get me wrong, you’re gonna explain, so you’d better not even think about moving from that chair. I’m gonna get Spike cleaned up and comfortable and then you and I are gonna have a nice long talk.”

The demon nodded then said quietly, “As you wish, madam. I am required to remain until the customer is satisfied, so you do not need to worry about me while you tend to the unit.” 

“Fabulous. How do I get the cuffs off? Are they magic, too? What about the crap on his… uh…”

“The cuffs simply buckle on and the ring’s release clasp is on the underside. If you do not wish the unit to ejaculate when the ring is opened, tap it in the center of its chest before you release the ring and it will not.”

Buffy eyed Spike’s still purple erection and huffed, “And how in the hell is he supposed to do that? Look at him. He looks like he’s ready to explode.”

“It has been trained so.”

“Right. Of course he has.” She turned to Spike and had to fight back a sudden burst of tears. He was still kneeling with his head tipped back in the position she’d left it in, but he hadn’t opened his eyes or given any sign that he even knew she was there. She spoke over her shoulder in a quiet, cold voice, “Oh… and this is Spike. **HE** is not an it, and if you refer to him as ‘the unit’ or ‘it’ one more time, I’ll make you into an ‘it’ if you aren’t one already. And if you are, then I guess I’ll just have to get… creative. Are we clear?”

She heard a small gulp then the demon answered, “Of course, madam.”

Buffy nodded then moved toward Spike, speaking in a calm, soothing voice like she was talking to a trapped animal, “Spike? I’m going to un-cuff you now, so just be still, okay?”

There was no response as she stepped behind him and lightly touched his shoulder. She slid her fingertips down his arm until she reached the cuff on his right wrist. “Here we go, Spike.” She quickly unbuckled the cuff and eased it away from his raw and abraded skin. He didn’t move except for a slight twitch of the fingers on that hand. The left cuff was soon unbuckled and Buffy tossed them into the toy crate with a snort of disgust. Spike’s hands were still positioned at his lower back, only now he was having to work to keep them there. His muscles were trembling slightly and Buffy noticed that his breathing had increased.

She lightly grasped his arms just above the abraded skin and started gently pulling them apart. He didn’t resist her at all, but she stopped when he tensed, obviously in pain. His muscles had become accustomed to the position and it hurt him to move them to a new one. “Spike?”

She could hear his teeth grinding together as he forced his arms apart and moved them around to the front of his body, only to extend them out and press his wrists together at chest height. Buffy blinked then looked over at the demon. “Why is he doing that?”

“The u… er… he is waiting for new restraints to be applied. As I mentioned, he has not been unrestrained for his entire length of service.”

Buffy stepped around Spike, noting that he still hadn’t moved his head or opened his eyes. “Why won’t he open his eyes or move or anything? Can he even hear me?”

“He has not been given a command to do either of those things, and no, he cannot hear you.”

Buffy turned to the demon. “But I took the hood off.”

“This u…” The demon paused, gulping again, then continued, “He was rendered deaf during training.”

Buffy’s voice was nearly a snarl. “Rendered deaf. Right. Just how, exactly, was that done? And for your sake, it had better be able to be reversed.”

The demon hurried to speak, “Of course, madam, it is simply a magical item inserted into the ear canal. Once removed, normal hearing will return in a matter of moments.”

“Why did you do that to him in the first place?”

“This… uh… he was rather difficult to tame, madam, and I was forced to use every method at my disposal to…”

Buffy slashed her hand through the air. “Just shut it, okay? I get it. You took everything you could away from him so he’d be the perfect little slave. Can he see? Can he talk? Can he smell?”

“His vision is unimpaired, although it may take some time for his eyes to adjust after wearing the hood. His sense of smell and voice, however…”

“However?”

“His abilities to scent and vocalize were also removed during training.”

Buffy’s hands clenched into fists and she had to fight off a wave of despair at never again hearing Spike’s deep baritone. She desperately wanted him to say something… anything… some small reassurance that the Spike she knew was still in there somewhere. Even an insult would be welcome at this point. She’d cry with happiness if he told her that she had stupid hair or a tragic taste in men. She forced her hands to relax then pinned the demon with a glare. “Can they be returned?”

The demon nodded vigorously. “Yes, madam, if you wish them to be, although I must tell you that this… uh… he is quite… noisy… during certain… activities. His screaming becomes somewhat grating after a time…”

Buffy was across the living room in a flash and hoisting the demon out of the chair by the front of his robe… again. “Stop talking.” She dragged him across the room and thrust him toward Spike. “Fix him. Remove whatever magical crap you need to so he can hear and talk and smell. And if you hurt him even a little tiny bit…” 

She let the threat hang in the air as the demon gulped again and nodded toward one of the crates on the floor. “The tool I need is in that crate, madam.”

“Great. Get it. And what in the hell is the hood for if you’ve already taken almost all his senses?” Buffy closed her eyes. “You know what? Don’t bother answering because I’ve already figured it out. It’s just one more ‘method’ to break him, isn’t it? Take almost everything away and then lock him into the dark on top of it. God, you’re sick.” She opened her eyes and saw the demon just standing by the crate, not moving. She barked, “What the hell are you waiting for?” He jumped and bent to the crate, shuffling items around, and Buffy glowered at him then looked over at Spike. “How do I get him to open his eyes?”

“Tap an eyelid.”

Buffy made another disgusted noise and moved to stand in front of Spike, reaching out to gently push his arms down. His brow furrowed a bit, but he didn’t otherwise react as she directed his hands to rest on his thighs then gently uncurled his fingers. She stood in front of him and took a deep breath, wondering what exactly was going to happen when he opened his eyes. 

She braced herself and reached tentatively toward his face.

XX  
XXXX  
XX

Spike’s POV

He restrained himself from taking a deep breath of relief as he felt the hood dissolving, wondering how long he’d be without it this time. Not that wearing the hood was much different from not wearing it, being that his renters seldom allowed him to open his eyes, but still. Any small freedom he **was** allowed was to be celebrated and enjoyed for as long as possible.

He nearly jumped when he felt small, warm hands cup his face. Thumbs brushed over his cheekbones and he stayed still, not even daring to breathe, as he tried to ascertain what order this new renter was giving him, but the hands weren’t giving any type of command that he understood. 

The hands went away and he braced himself for the punishment he’d earned by not following the order, but nothing happened. He knelt there, wondering if his new renter was looking for something to punish him with or if his trainer was explaining the most effective punishments for disobedience. He sincerely hoped it was the former and that his trainer wasn’t giving his renter any ideas. It was obvious from the trainer’s demonstration of his features and abilities that his new renter was unfamiliar with his species, and yes, he could endure quite a lot of pain, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it, or wanted his new renter to be told how to inflict it.

He’d mostly locked away his current pain – he could still feel his injuries and the tight bindings around his cock and balls, but the pain was pushed down into the back of his mind – although any new injuries or inflicted pain would bring all of it slamming back to the fore and he’d be writhing in renewed agony.

He was so tired of being in pain. He’d been in pain for so long now that he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been. He’d stopped trying to remember his past, because keeping those memories alive had only caused more pain, mostly located around his dead heart. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter as unwelcome flashes of memory played across his mind – blonde hair, shining hazel-green eyes, a soft smile, and two joined hands engulfed in flames. 

He trembled and hurriedly shoved those memories away, locking them up tight. Thinking of her only made his current existence harder to deal with. He hadn’t even thought her name – or his, if he was being completely honest with himself – in so long that he couldn’t remember them, and he didn’t want to try, not now when he had a new renter to acclimate to. He had to focus all his energy on his renter, learn what they wanted and how they wanted it, so he could perform his service adequately and hope to avoid a harsh punishment when he was returned to his trainer at the end of the lease. There was no way to avoid punishment altogether. No matter how well he performed, his trainer always found something worth punishing him for, but if he did well, then at least it wouldn’t be very bad.

He’d become quite the proper little pleasure slave. He responded to commands quickly, almost without any thought at all, and he’d stopped trying to fight back ages ago. He just let whoever held his lease do whatever they wanted to him, no matter how brutal or degrading the act. He was also very good at showing how much whatever they were doing was hurting him because that’s what they wanted… and what they were paying for. His renters received pleasure by causing him pain, and trying to be stoic throughout numerous beatings and rapes had only brought extended sessions of punishment from his trainer. So now, he just shut off the thinking part of himself and let his body react while his renter was beating or using him… or doing whatever it was that got them off – and he’d endured some strange practices in his years of service… because if the renter felt that they’d gotten their money’s worth out of him then he didn’t get punished… much. It was quite simple, really, when you stopped to think about it.

He knew precisely how far he’d fallen from what he’d once been. He used to be a fierce warrior, a Champion – he’d even saved the world, if he remembered correctly – but now… He was basically a toy. An expensive and highly sought after toy, but a toy nonetheless. He was a pair of holes, an occasional dildo, and a punching bag, and that was all. He had no worth as a sentient being and he knew it. Nobody cared about what he thought or felt or wanted, they only wanted to use him for their pleasure, pay the bill, and go on with their lives until the next time they needed to hurt something. It had taken him a while to realize that fact, but once he had, he’d shut the past away as tightly as he could manage. It didn’t do him any good to compare his current existence with his past one. In fact, it made it harder to focus on what he had to do and endure to continue existing at all, so he’d done his level best to stop thinking about it. 

Some days were easier than others at accomplishing that feat. On the days where all his attention was occupied by the short term renter currently pounding into his ass or mouth… or both at the same time – sometimes he was rented out to a group, a family, or as entertainment for a party… it was easy to not think about his past. He also didn’t allow himself to think about anything but his renter during his longer leases, even during whatever downtime he experienced. He knelt wherever they instructed him to and waited to be used again, but he didn’t let his mind wander. That led to slow command obedience which led to brutal punishments, so he made sure to stay focused. But on the days that he wasn’t in service or being punished, rare though those days were, his mind wouldn’t have anything to concentrate on besides maintaining whatever position he’d been ordered into, and remembering to keep his back straight as he knelt on the floor in the center of the cell he barely spent any time in didn’t really take all that much brain power. 

He nearly jumped again when something lightly touched his shoulder then slid down his right arm. Fingertips. And they were so gentle, barely even touching him at all. That was unusual. Nobody touched him gently. Even the creatures that were tasked with cleaning him after punishments and preparing him for his next renter caused him as much pain as they could get away with while performing their duties.

His renter unbuckled the cuff on his right wrist then unbuckled the left. He tried not to move, but his fingers twitched a little and then the muscles in his arms started trembling as he worked to keep his hands in the uncomfortable position without the assistance of the restraints. He didn’t notice he’d started breathing again until the renter’s fingers circled his arms and started pulling them apart. 

Pain slammed into him as his muscles screamed at the movement and he tensed, trying to brace himself for more pain as his arms were moved further. The renter stopped applying pressure to his arms, but the command had already been given, so, gritting his teeth, he continued to bring his arms around to the front of his body, moving them into position to be restrained again. 

He figured he was going to be hung up for a whipping as his punishment. At least he hoped it would **only** be a whipping and not one of the more inventive punishments his trainer had used in the past. He’d learned quite a lot about what his species could endure over the years, things that would be very interesting to that group of demented scientists that had kidnapped him eons ago. 

Some days – actually, most days – he wished he was back in the stark white cell that still made cameo appearances in his nightmares… when he was allowed to sleep. His current existence was far more terrifying than even his worst nightmares, but the horrible things the soldiers and scientists had done to him were **nothing** compared to what his trainer and renters had subjected him to.

He waited, breathing heavily as he tried to maintain position through the painful knotting of his muscles. He’d had his hands restrained behind him for a while and he knew it would take time for his muscles to stop clenching enough to adjust to the new position. And when he was hung up for the whipping, they’d scream so loudly at having to take his weight that he wouldn’t even notice the first five or six lashes of the whip.

He was ashamed at having earned a punishment so early into his new lease, and he knew he’d be punished even more by his trainer when the lease was up, no matter how harshly his renter punished him. His trainer loathed being embarrassed by his slaves and would mete out a punishment much greater than however much embarrassment he’d been caused. 

He wanted to drop his head in submission, try to let his trainer and renter know that he was sorry he’d disobeyed, but he hadn’t been given an order to move, so he stayed still, straining to hold his hands out in front of him. He jumped when his renter’s hands touched his forearms and started applying downward pressure. He slowly lowered his arms, trying to figure out what punishment position he was meant to assume, then sat in shock as his renter placed his hands on his thighs and uncurled his fingers, laying them flat.

His fingers were touching his legs. He twitched them slightly, feeling the small hairs on his thighs brushing against the sensitive pads of his fingers, and his shock turned to near awe. His fingers hadn’t touched any part of himself other than the palms of his hands in years… possibly decades. He had no idea how long he’d been a slave, but in nearly all that time, he’d been restrained in one fashion or another, not allowed to touch anything at all. 

There was a light tap on his left eyelid and his training immediately took over, pushing all other thoughts away save one… I must please my renter. He opened his eyes and bright light bombarded him, causing him to squint as his eyes watered from the assault. He blinked several times, trying to hurry the adjustment along so his renter wouldn’t become impatient and punish him for being too slow on top of punishing him for his disobedience.

When his vision cleared, he was sure that he was hallucinating. It couldn’t be her. He blinked again and tried to focus his gaze, but it was difficult with his head tipped back the way it was. He was looking at her out the bottoms of his eyes and his brain was disbelieving of what his eyes were telling it. She turned her head slightly, looking at something out of his field of vision, and her mouth moved, then she reached out and tapped his chin. He lifted his head at the command and focused on her properly, still not believing what he was seeing. She was exactly the same as the vision he’d carried around in his head all this time. How was that possible? He’d been a slave for years and years and she looked as if no time had passed at all.

Then she smiled… that soft smile that haunted his thoughts whenever he let them wander down that particular path… and his heart sank. He was meant to service her. He wouldn’t be here with his trainer otherwise. She’d purchased his services and had watched the demonstration of his functions, and now he was going to experience pain and degradation at the hands of the one person whose smile gracing his thoughts on occasion had kept him somewhat sane during his slavery. 

All thoughts of how she managed to look exactly the same after so many years fled his mind as it tried to reconcile the person he remembered with the reason he was here. She wasn’t supposed to be like this, she wasn’t supposed to want to hurt people… he was sure he was remembering that part correctly. His heart filled with despair. He **wasn’t** a person to her… he was sure he remembered THAT part correctly as well… and now she was going to use him like the toy he was.

He wanted to close his eyes again so he wouldn’t have to see her, wouldn’t have to watch her take pleasure in his pain, but he hadn’t been commanded to, so he stared at her, watching her mouth move as she spoke to someone, probably his trainer. She nodded and he read the words on her lips, “Okay. Do it,” and then something touched the back of his neck and everything went black.


	5. Back

Sorry I'm late in posting this. I've been dealing with some real life stuff that involved an emergency room visit and an ambulance ride to another state for my teenager. She's okay and should be released from the hospital tomorrow. So, yeah, I've been busy the last couple of days. I'm posting this from my iPad because I'm sitting in a motel room in that other state until it's time for visiting hours, so if the formatting goes wonky, I'll fix it when I get home.

Service Unit  
Chapter Five – Back

The demon stood up from the crate and quietly cleared his throat, "Madam?"

Buffy looked over at him. "Yes?"

"You have requested that he not feel any pain during the removal procedure, and while the procedure is not particularly painful, it does cause a bit of discomfort, so I would like to render him unconscious."

"How would you do that? Because I’m not going to let you hit him or anything."

The demon reached into his torn robes and produced a small black stone. "I simply touch this to the nerve cluster at the base of his skull and he will be rendered unconscious for six hours. It is used when the un... uh... when they are transported to prevent movement and possible damage. I can also use it to wake him, if need be, before the six hours are up."

Buffy nodded. "Okay. Do it."

The demon stepped up behind Spike and touched the stone high up on the back of his neck and he immediately slumped forward. Buffy reached out quickly and grasped his upper arms, lowering him gently to the floor. She rolled him to his back then snagged a pillow off the couch and placed it under his head. Her eyes fell on his still painfully purple erection and she grimaced. "Hurry up and get that crap out of him so I can get that junk off him and get him cleaned up."

"Yes, madam, I will be but a few moments." The demon crouched over Spike's head and inserted a thin silver stick with a bulbous end into Spike's left ear. He twisted a few times then withdrew the stick and tapped it against an outstretched palm. A tiny brown blob that looked like a pebble dropped into the center of his hand. 

Buffy leaned over to look at it. "That's what made him deaf?"

The demon nodded then pocketed the pebble and inserted the stick into Spike's right ear, pulling out another pebble. He pocketed that one as well then slid the stick up Spike's left nostril, pulling out yet another pebble, this one red.

The slide up Spike's right nostril produced another red pebble that was quickly pocketed then the demon moved to Spike's right side. "This is the most uncomfortable removal, madam. I will need to cut into his throat to remove the item that resides in his larynx."

Buffy scowled. "And you think that cutting him open is only **uncomfortable**? How much crack do you smoke?"

The demon's brow furrowed and he said in a querulous voice, "Crack?" 

Buffy shook her head. "Never mind. Just get it done." She stepped into the kitchen and returned with a small hand towel just as the demon used one of his claws to make a small incision directly above Spike's Adam's apple. The claw was then pressed down hard until it popped through the tough cartilage of Spike’s larynx. Spike didn't even twitch as the silver stick was inserted into the opening and twisted. 

That pebble was a shiny black and was about three times as large as the others. The demon pocketed the pebble then flipped the stick over and ran it along both openings several times, closing the wounds. Buffy bent down and gently wiped the blood from Spike's neck then stood up and pointed at the chair. "Sit. Stay. I'm going to get him cleaned up and then you and I are going to talk."

"As you wish, madam." The demon scuttled over to the chair and sat down.

Buffy threw him a glare then bent down and hefted Spike into her arms as carefully as she could. She carried him to her bedroom and laid him on top of her comforter then stood back, trying to decide what to do first. He needed to be cleaned; there was blood and lubricant on his thighs and around his anus, and yeah, she’d been intimate with Spike in the past… but not quite THAT intimate. 

She sighed. It had to be done. It wasn’t like he’d get infected or anything, that wasn’t the reason she needed to clean him at all. She could let him be and he’d heal up just fine… physically, anyway… but if she wanted to get her Spike back… the snarky, swaggering, always talking Spike she loved… then she would have to remove any trace of his slavery. Not that she had any experience in rehabilitating vampire sex slaves, but she knew deep in her heart that any reminder would send him back to that mind set and would make his recovery just that much more difficult.

She looked him over critically. He was thinner than she remembered, his muscles much more defined because of that thinness, and his blond hair was gone. His scalp was covered in fine, light brown fuzz, maybe a quarter of an inch long. She sat down next to him then reached out and clasped his slack hand in hers, her eyes welling up as she took in his battered form. “God, Spike. What happened to you? How did you end up like this?”

She let herself cry for a few minutes then sniffled a few times, squeezing his hand as she took a deep breath and stood up, muttering to herself, “As Spike would say, ‘Stop dithering and shift your arse, Slayer.’” She used the hem of her shirt to wipe the tears from her face then squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, pushing the Buffy side of her back as she let the Slayer side take control. There were things that had to be done and sitting here sniveling wasn’t going to make them happen. "That stuff on his... yeah. Need to get rid of that before I do anything else."

She went into the bathroom and came back with a pair of medical scissors from the first aid kit and a damp wash cloth, setting them on the comforter next to Spike. She sat down next to his knee then leaned down and peered at the ring around the base of his penis. It was partially sunken into his flesh and flipping open the catch was probably going to pinch some of it. She didn't want to cause him any more pain, but she had to get that thing off.

Steeling herself, she reached for the clasp and released the ring. Spike’s penis jerked once then stilled, semen spilling from the tip in a sluggish stream as it slowly deflated. Once she was fairly sure that he was done, she considered the sizeable puddle on his stomach then looked at the washcloth. Not nearly big enough. He must have been ready to blow for a really long time. She went back into the bathroom and returned with a damp hand towel then quickly cleaned up the puddle, making sure to handle Spike’s raw looking penis with care.

He’d deflated enough that the leather straps were now loose, so she cut the couple of straps that connected the ring to the web surrounding his balls then carefully removed the ring and the penis straps and tossed them into the trash can next to the bed. The web around his balls was still tight and she carefully slid the scissors between his skin and the leather then started snipping strips until she’d snipped enough of them to remove the web.

She tossed the bundle of cut leather strips, and the plug that was still attached to them, into the trash can with a grimace of disgust. Time for the next part. She stood up and headed out to the kitchen.

The demon was still sitting in the chair in her living room and Buffy glared at him as she stalked past. She grabbed her plastic dish tub from under the sink and filled it with warm water, adding a sizeable squirt of the lilac scented moisturizing hand soap she kept on the counter. She swirled the soap around in the water until she’d created a few suds then she picked up the tub and went back to the bedroom.

Spike was lying in the exact same position as she set the tub on the floor next to the bed then retrieved a stack of washcloths from the bathroom. She set about cleaning him up, starting at his head and working her way down, tossing the soiled washcloths into the hamper in the corner. He wasn’t actually dirty, except for his groin area, but it made her feel better to wash him down. It felt, to her anyway, and she hoped it would to him as well once he woke up, that she was washing away some of the horrible things he’d been through since she’d seen him last. 

Once his front half was clean, and thankfully not that damaged, except for his genitals and several deep punctures near his hipbones, she gently rolled him onto his stomach and started at the top again. His back was covered in bruises, welts, punctures, and what looked like claw marks, and she dabbed at the injuries gently, not wanting to disturb the scabs that had formed. She skipped over his rear and moved to his feet, figuring she’d work her way back up and clean that area last. She winced when she reached the backs of his knees, not wanting to know what had caused those deep puncture wounds, but her mind was conjuring up all kinds of disturbing images to explain them. _‘Thanks a lot mind’,_ she thought, _‘just what I need… more disturbing on top of all the already disturbing.’_

And then she was there, the site of what was probably his worst physical injury. The extent of his mental injuries wouldn’t be revealed until he woke up, and that thought had her closing her eyes as she grimaced in nearly physical pain. She clenched her hands into fists then took a deep, fortifying breath and slowly opened her eyes. She carefully pushed his legs further apart then bent them so he was propped up on his knees, giving her clear access. His entrance was still torn and raw and swollen, but it looked like he’d stopped bleeding. She dipped a fresh washcloth into the water and squeezed it out then laid it gently over his abused hole, hoping the warmth and wet would soak some of the blood and dried lubricant off before she tried wiping anything. 

She muttered under her breath as she pulled the cooled washcloth away, “You so owe me for this, Spike. Seriously. I love all of you, but this is a part of you I’d rather not have to deal with, thanks very much.” She grimaced again at the blood staining the cloth and tossed it into the trash then snagged a fresh one from the pile. She dipped and wrung then wiped carefully until she could see no trace of blood or lubricant anywhere on his skin. She trashed that cloth as well and took a new one into the bathroom. She ran it under cold water then wrung it out and carried it back into the bedroom, laying it over his hole as a sort of cold compress. “Hopefully that will help with the swelling a little.” 

She picked up the scissors and leftover washcloths and put them away then she carried the tub of wash water into the bathroom and dumped it into the bathtub, leaning it against the side to dry. The washcloth was still cool when she checked it after dumping the tub, so she pulled the trash bag out of the can and tied it tightly shut then carried it to the incinerator chute in her building’s hallway, tossing it down with a small smile of satisfaction.

She didn’t even look at the demon when she passed back through the living room, but she did hear him gulp quietly. Apparently he could sense the rage of The Slayer bubbling just below the surface. She smirked slightly as she stepped into the bedroom and pulled the washcloth away then inspected the area. She thought the swelling might have come down a little, but that might just be wishful thinking. She sighed again and tossed the cloth into the hamper. “I’d have to leave it on a lot longer and I don’t want to leave you in this position, Spike. It looks uncomfortable. Here, let’s get you laid down right, okay?”

She pulled the covers down on the other side of the bed then maneuvered Spike’s limp form into position and covered him up. She leaned down and brushed a light kiss across his lips then said quietly, “I’m gonna go talk to that little creep in my living room and then we’ll see about waking you up and getting some blood into you, okay? We’ll get you back, Spike. I promise.”


	6. Lost

Service Unit  
Chapter Six – Lost

Buffy sat down on the couch and pulled her legs up, curling them underneath her. “Okay. Spill.”

The demon blinked all his eyes. “Spill, madam?”

“Yeah. Tell me everything you know about Spike. How you got hold of him, who gave him to you, what you did to him… everything.”

“Yes, madam. He was given into service twenty three years ago as payment of a bargain. The original term was ten years, but his owner and my employer made a separate bargain to extend that term and then gift him to you when his service was complete.”

Buffy held up her hand. “Two things… first… how did you have him for twenty three years when he was in LA last week and I last saw him like six months ago? And second… Owner? He’s not a puppy.”

“First, my dimension’s time runs differently than your dimension’s time. Ten years in my dimension is approximately three days in yours. Second, Mr. Angel was the original owner, and you are a very lucky woman to be gifted such a fine slave. The payments collected for his services have made my employer one of the richest slave owners in several dimensions. You could turn a hefty profit yourself if you were to rent him out when you weren’t using him.” The demon nodded to the binder still sitting on the couch. “My contact information is in there should you want to contract with some of his regulars. They were extremely saddened when they learned that one of their favorite pleasure slaves was being removed from service. I’m sure they would pay double, possibly triple the normal fee to use him again, and with the time difference, they could use him for years and you’d have him back in a matter of hours.”

Buffy nearly vomited all over her couch, but she managed to choke down the bile rising in her throat. She clenched and unclenched her fists and steadied her breathing before she said quietly, her voice getting louder as her anger rose. “I don’t think you get it. I do not want to USE him, you slimy little creep, and I sure as hell am not going to RENT HIM OUT!! I LOVE him and I swear I’ll gut you like a fish if you EVER SAY THAT TO ME AGAIN!”

The demon stammered, “Yes, madam, of course. As his owner, you prefer exclusive rights. I understand. I will not mention it again.”

Buffy closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “No, you **don’t** understand. I don’t OWN him, dumbass, and the only person with exclusive rights to Spike is Spike. At least in this dimension. **Nobody** here owns him, not even Angel… and just as soon as Spike is better, we’re going to take a trip to LA and beat that son of a bitch to within an inch of his broody life, Champion of the Powers or not. I mean, I know he doesn’t like Spike and they don’t really get along, and even I know how freaking annoying Spike can be, but selling him into slavery because he’s annoying seems just a bit harsh… you know? I’m kind of wondering if Angel’s soul is still in the house. Maybe I should call Wils...”

Buffy stopped talking, but her thoughts kept careening along. How could Angel have done that to Spike? What kind of bargain had he made that would require that kind of payment? What the hell was going on at that law firm of his that would make him think that what he’d done to Spike was even kind of okay? He had to have at least guessed at what kind of shape Spike would be in when he was **gifted** to her after twenty three years of torture and sexual abuse, so what the hell was Angel thinking? WAS he thinking? Or had he lost his mind completely? Had telling him that she loved Spike instead of him broken his little gel-soaked brain? 

She had a lot of questions and very few answers, but she swore to herself that she would get those answers. And if Angel’s soul had gone walkabout again, well… this time she would have no problem dusting him. She’d ram a stake so far up his ass that he’d choke on the splinters. Let the Powers find themselves a new Champion, because she wasn’t about to put everyone through another Angelus episode. Once was way more than enough. 

The demon had been watching her warily as she sat there with her eyes closed. He waited what he thought was a respectable amount of time then ventured, “Madam? Are you all right?”

Buffy opened her eyes and looked over at the demon then gave a bitter chuckle. “All right? Really? No. I’m not all right. Not even a little bit.” She took a deep breath then laid her head back on the couch. “I’m just trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with Angel, and since it’s doubtful you can help with that, let’s talk about something you can help with.” She rolled her head to look over at the binder. “What else is in there besides disturbing pictures and the hood spell?”

“When ownership of a slave is transferred, the new owner…” Buffy’s head lifted as she tensed and the demon held up one hand. “I know you do not wish to be referred to in that fashion, madam, I am merely explaining our procedures.” Buffy nodded tightly then motioned for him to continue. “The new owner is provided with a record of the slave’s entire history – his training, a list of the clients he’s serviced and the services he performed, and any behavior problems and the punishments given to correct those problems. The record also contains instructions for care and maintenance… would you like me to explain those to you at this time?”

Buffy snorted. “I’m pretty sure I can take care of him without being told how to. He drinks blood and mostly stays out of the sun and away from pointy, wooden objects. Vampire 101.”

“He has been modified, madam, and no longer feeds like a normal member of his species.”

Buffy sighed, “You have got to be kidding me. Modified how? Can he eat normally? Can he even bring up his demon? Or did you take that away from him, too?”

“His demon is intact, madam, but he has not been fed by way of his mouth since he was given into service. A feeding port was installed and he is maintained through the use of specially formulated sustaining fluid. Would you like me to show you how to use it?”

Buffy grimaced yet again and reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose, wondering if her face would just freeze that way if she kept learning new and revolting things about Spike’s slavery. “CAN he feed normally? Does he have to use this ‘sustaining fluid’ or can he drink blood like a vampire is supposed to?”

“He can drink blood if you would like, but the sustaining fluid has been formulated to accelerate the healing abilities of his species, and it also…”

Buffy cut him off. “If he doesn’t need it then the sustaining fluid is going down the incinerator chute along with the toys and the crate, once I finish taking out some of my rage on it. I have blood for him in my fridge and freezer, so as long as he CAN feed normally, he WILL feed normally, and he’ll heal up just fine. Now… the feeding port. Where is it and can you remove it?”

“It is located in his navel, and yes, it can be removed. The procedure is painful, so it would be best if I were to do it now, while he is still unconscious.”

The demon made to stand up and Buffy held up her hand. “Is there anything else you put into him that needs to be removed?”

The demon started ticking things off on his fingers, having to move to a second hand to complete the list. “Two hearing stones, two scent stones, one vocal stone, feeding port, and…” He paused, a look of fearful trepidation slipping onto his face. 

Buffy grimaced… again. “And… what? From the look on your face, I’m not going to like whatever it is, am I?”

The demon gulped and lowered his hands. “No, madam, I fear you will be quite incensed.”

“Yeah, well, making me sit here waiting isn’t going to make me any less incensed, so spit it out. What else did you put into him?”

“There was a stone implanted into the nerve center at the base of his skull.”

“Okay. You made him unconscious by touching him there with some kind of rock… is that what the stone does?”

“No… um…” Buffy sat forward slightly and the demon hurried to continue, “It was installed to amplify the pain he feels.”

Buffy yelped, “It does WHAT!?”

The demon stammered as he pressed himself back into the chair. “His species is very sturdy and not easily damaged, and a few of our clients are rather slight and not able to exert the force needed to cause the amount of pain they desire, so the stone was installed.”

“So it makes him hurt MORE? How much more?”

“Approximately four to five times the normal amount. For example, something that would normally only be mildly painful, say the insertion of a needle or a small scratch, becomes nearly excruciating because of the stone. Even the lightest of touches will cause pain.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh God… did I hurt him when I touched him? I was trying to be careful… did I?”

The demon nodded. “Your touches, especially the sharp taps, caused him pain, yes, but the pain tolerance of his species is fairly high, and is another reason the stone was installed.”

Buffy looked slightly green, but she took a deep breath and tried to think. Something had been bothering her since Spike’s arrival… well… a **lot** of somethings had been bothering her, but she’d finally figured out what this particular something was. “Okay… jumping off the topic of that stone being one more reason for me to kick your ass up between your ears… Speaking of Spike’s species, why can’t I feel that he’s a vampire? I should have felt that even before I saw him, but I didn’t. I still don’t, and I could always feel when Spike was around, especially when he was this close to me. What did you do to him to make him not register?”

The demon looked confused. “Register, madam? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you know who I am?”

The demon nodded. “The shipping manifest says that you are Buffy Summers.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah, but have you heard of The Slayer?”

The demon’s eyes widened. All of them. “The Vampire Slayer? The Chosen One that closed the Hellmouth in California with a souled vampire?”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah, that would be me. And, actually, Spike closed the Hellmouth, I just helped him.”

The demon’s eyes flew to the bedroom door then drifted back to Buffy. “I had no idea he was THAT vampire! If I had known, I would have charged double… triple! Oh, the money he could have made! My employ…” Buffy’s hand closing around his throat stopped whatever else he’d been planning to say. She squeezed until he held up his hands and shook his head violently. She let him go and backed up a step, tapping her foot while he coughed and tried to clear his throat. “I apologize, madam. I will not mention it again, I promise.”

“Damn right you won’t.” Buffy sat back down on the couch and motioned toward the bedroom. “Now that you know who I am, tell me why I can’t sense that there’s a vampire in my apartment… especially one I didn’t invite in. How did he get across the threshold without an invite?”

“His fangs have been removed.”

Buffy arched an eyebrow. “And? He’s still a vampire even if he doesn’t have fangs.”

“Yes, but removing a vampire’s fangs sends the demon into hiding until they’ve nearly grown back, and if the demon stays in hiding long enough, even a vampire of his own line would be unable to sense it. It also negates the need for an invitation because the demon is suppressed. It is a rather effective tool to tame problem slaves of the vampire species. Their bodies still possess the durability and healing capabilities of a vampire, but their defiance and insolence are greatly reduced, if not eliminated entirely.”

Buffy blanched. “How long will it take his fangs to grow back?”

“It takes approximately seven months for them to fully grow back in, but we remove them near the six month mark, before they’ve fully re-grown, to ensure the demon’s continued suppression.”

Buffy screeched, “You’ve removed his fangs every six months for the last twenty three years?!”

The demon cowered in his chair and whispered, “Yes?”

Her voice was nearly a snarl. “So when he vamps out, he won’t have fangs?”

“He is unable to call forth his demon, but if he could, his fangs would be shorter than usual because he was due for removal nearly a week ago.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, he is **unable** to call forth his demon. He can’t vamp out? Why not?”

“The continued removal of his fangs has suppressed his demon to such a degree that it is unable or unwilling to surface.”

Buffy’s hands were clenched into fists and her voice was very quiet when she asked, “So… how in the hell do you remove a vampire’s fangs, anyway?”

The demon gulped again at the malice in her tone, but he managed to stammer, “W..when his demon could still surface, they were pulled. When he stopped being able to call it forth, they were cut out.”

Buffy’s voice was still very quiet, and that was somehow more frightening than if she had been screaming in rage. “I see. And how long has his demon been hiding?”

The demon gulped… again. “Approximately twenty-one years, madam.”

“Uh-huh. And when Spike’s fangs grow back in, will the demon come out?”

The trainer started to shake his head then thought better of it and shrugged instead. “It may come out of hiding enough that you would once again be able to sense it, but after being suppressed for so long, it’s extremely unlikely that it will ever surface.”

Buffy bolted off the couch and ran for the kitchen, barely making it to the trash can before her breakfast rocketed out of her. She knelt by the trash can, resting her head on the cupboard, and started crying. Tears splashed down onto her breakfast as she sobbed and she finally pushed away from the can when the stench started getting to her. She slid across the floor and leaned against the wall by the fridge, her mind whirling as it tried to absorb yet more disturbing information. 

Spike’s demon was buried so far down that it might never be able to dig its way out, and it had probably dragged what remained of William along with it when it went into hiding. That had to be why Spike had shown no signs of recognition when he’d finally been able to see her. Everything that made him who he was had been buried and the vampire in her bedroom was nothing but an animated corpse, more so now than it had ever been. 

Spike had always been dangerous, even when he’d been chipped, and now… he wasn’t. He was as helpless as a half-starved kitten. Without his demon, he wouldn’t be able to fight his way out of a wet paper bag. He was an empty shell… a life sized, pose-able action figure. She giggled hysterically as she wondered if he had a Kung-Fu grip.

Back in Sunnydale, when he’d made sure to be underfoot just as much as possible, she’d been annoyed whenever he’d shown her his demon. One instance in particular flashed across her mind. They’d been in the Bronze, just after she’d nearly been gutted with her own stake, and Spike had been telling her how he’d killed two Slayers. He’d grabbed her wrist, not nearly hard enough to hurt but just enough to get her attention, then he’d slid into game face, saying something about always having his weapon… and now that weapon was destroyed.

She hadn’t really heard what he’d said because even though one part of her had been annoyed at being reminded of what he was; a secret, deeply buried part of her had been admiring his exotically handsome demon features. Yes, his human blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and full lips made for hours of viewing enjoyment as the butterflies in her stomach fluttered around, and even though she wouldn’t admit it to herself at the time, she’d thought he was beyond hot and her body had reacted to his presence even as her mind had tried to deny it. 

But, as she’d realized far too late, it was his amber eyes, ridges, and the tips of his fangs peeking out from those full lips that made the butterflies in her stomach flutter like they’d been mainlining Red Bull. She’d reacted the same way every time she’d seen his demon – her heart had sped up, her skin had flushed with heat, and her panties had become suddenly damp and sticky. Spike, using his amazingly accurate powers of observation, had told her as much after they’d brought that house down. He’d said, “Vampires get you hot,” and she’d jumped right into that river in Egypt and had started paddling for all she was worth, burying those feelings just as deep as she could, because knowing that she was turned on by the demon had horrified her. She’d considered those feelings to be an abomination; contrary to everything she was… everything she stood for.

She banged her head on the wall behind her as she chuckled bitterly at the irony of it all. She’d spent a lot of time since the cratering of Sunnydale figuring herself out, and the news that Spike had survived had come just when she’d given herself permission to feel whatever she chose to feel. She’d accepted that getting all hot and bothered by his demon was just fine, actually, it was normal considering that she wasn’t exactly human herself, a fact that had been proven conclusively the one time she’d let herself go while having sex with Riley and had nearly squeezed his penis into pulp with her super-powered Slayer vagina… but now… 

Spike had been a Champion, even before he’d gotten his soul and sacrificed himself to save the world. He’d let himself be tortured to protect her sister, he’d thrown himself into fights to protect her and her friends, and he’d even let her vent her rage and frustration on his extremely durable body and fragile heart. But he wasn’t a Champion anymore. He wasn’t a demon or even a man. He was a slave. He’d been reduced to nothing but a thing… a toy… and her stomach suddenly lurched again at how unfair that was. To both of them. Just when she’d been ready to accept ALL of him, demon and man, and let him fully into her heart, giving him the love he so desperately craved… **this** had to happen. 

She choked down the bile as she reached up to snag the dish towel draped through the handle of the fridge. She pressed it to her mouth, briefly trapping the sob that was trying to force its way out, then gave up and buried her face in it, crying for everything that Spike had lost and might never get back.


	7. Removed

There is a section in this chapter that is graphic. Technicolor graphic. We get to see some of what Spike experienced in the slave dimension, and being that he’s a sex slave being used by demons… well… make sure you’re not eating when you read this chapter.

Service Unit  
Chapter Seven – Removed

“I am finished, madam.”

Buffy lifted her head and looked over at the demon. He was standing next to her bed holding a bloody something that looked like a small funnel attached to a short plastic tube in one hand, and a sickly green stone about the size of a nickel in another. She stood and crossed the room, reaching for the stone. The demon pulled his hand back slightly and Buffy’s other hand darted out, grasping the front of his robe. “You will give that to me, along with all the others, or you’ll be leaving here with fewer body parts than you arrived with… if you leave here at all.”

The demon’s throat had to be getting sore by now, what with all the gulping he’d done in the few short hours he’d been in her apartment, but he relinquished the stone then dug in a pocket of his robe and produced the others. Buffy let go of him and crossed the room again, depositing the stones in a small velvet box that she dug out of her dresser drawer. She slid the box into her pocket and turned to face the demon. “Is that absolutely everything that you **installed** in him?”

“Yes, madam. I have removed all foreign objects.”

“Great. Get out.” The demon started for the door and Buffy called after him. “I meant out of this room, not out of my apartment. I’m not sure if I’m a satisfied customer yet, so park your carcass in your chair and wait. And throw that feeding thing in with the ‘toys.’ It’s going down the incinerator chute, too.”

“Yes, madam.”

Buffy sat down on the bed next to Spike and gently cleaned the blood off his stomach. She rolled him to his side and cleaned the blood off the back of his neck then tossed the washcloth into the hamper and rolled him onto his back again. She fluffed his pillow and pulled the covers over him then just sat clutching his hand as she stared at his face and thought things over. 

Nearly an hour later, she’d formulated the bare bones of a plan. She was smiling as she picked up the phone and made two calls.

XX  
XXXX  
XX

“Hey, Angel, this is Buffy. Just wanted to let you know that Spike made it and thanks for getting him over here. We have a lot of ‘catching up’ to do, if you know what I mean, so don’t call us, we’ll call you. Bye!” There was a clatter, some rustling, and a giggle, and then she came back on the line. “Oh, and Spike says, ‘Don’t expect me back, you prancing wanker, ‘cause I’m gonna be busy shaggin’ my girl for the foreseeable future.’ Bye again!”

There was a click in his ear and Angel pulled the handset away from his head then stared dumbly at it as he let it slip through his numb fingers. “What? How?” He bolted from his desk and stumbled into the elevator, punching the button for the sub-basement nearly hard enough to break it. When the elevator doors opened, he raced to the end of the dank hallway and stopped in front of a gray stone door. He nicked his thumb with a fang then pressed the bleeding digit to a sigil carved into the stone. The door swung open to reveal a room that looked like a high-end hotel suite. 

Angel stepped over the threshold, the familiar tingle skating across his skin, and pushed the door closed. He pressed his thumb to the sigil on the back of the door, a different one than on the front, and it glowed with a pale green light. He braced a hand on the wall next to the door when the room started shaking, then waited the thirty or forty seconds it took for the small pocket dimension to close around it. 

When the shaking had subsided, Angel felt the dimension snap into place along with the suspension magic. He’d been slightly hungry and had been thinking about calling Harmony for some blood just before Buffy’s call, but now his body processes had been slowed enough that he wouldn’t need to eat for quite some time. 

He was in one of Wolfram and Hart’s meeting rooms. They could be decked out in any configuration, from enormous conference room to cozy study or posh hotel room, and the dimension tied to this one had been chosen for its nearly time stopping properties. Time moved so slowly in this dimension that a meeting could last for three decades and only about twenty-four hours would have passed outside the door. The suspension spell had been put into place to save on food costs while the meetings were being held. It could get expensive to feed several demon delegations when their peace negotiations took nearly forty years, so a spell had been developed that would make sleeping, eating, drinking, and eliminating waste unnecessary for at least twenty of this dimension’s years. 

Everything else worked just fine, though, as Angel had found out when he’d had to kick a pair of succubi out of this room the first time he’d wanted to use it. They’d kidnapped a vampire who worked in the mail room and had been fucking him for nearly fifteen years. It wasn’t that he’d been complaining about it or anything, in fact, he’d been more than a little pissed off that Angel was kicking them out, but since Angel was the CEO, his need for the room took precedence.

Whatever entity had been trying to tell him something was wrong hadn’t been heard from since he’d agreed to send Spike off as payment of the bargain, and the small, quiet voice that had been whispering to him for months now, not to mention sending him those torture porn visions, had been the one to suggest that Angel ask for something other than money as his cut of Spike’s earnings. And Angel had listened, assuming the idea to be his own because the voice had been subtle – taking its time and not pushing for too much too soon.

The images provided by the crystal the old man had given him had taken the place of the visions in his head, and as a consequence, Angel hadn’t gotten very much actual work accomplished this past week because he’d spent most of it in this room, watching Spike being beaten, tortured, and raped. Other than three or four trips to his penthouse to eat and shower, Angel had spent so much time watching Spike that he had favorite scenes he liked to play over and over again.

He fumbled the crystal from his pocket as he moved to an overstuffed chair next to the bed and dropped down into it. He held the crystal in his palm and said the words to activate it, “Let me see Spike’s last lease, starting halfway through the first day.”

An image flickered to life above the stone in his hand, as clear and sharp as if he were watching it on the high definition big screen television in his penthouse. Spike was naked, as usual, his hands bound behind him, also as usual, and he was bent over a rough wooden table. The large, red, scaly demon standing behind Spike was pumping in and out of him with abandon while the bluish tinted demon standing in front of Spike was grasping his hooded head in two clawed hands as he vigorously used his mouth.

The red demon was also punching whatever part of Spike’s back he could reach, changing up the punches every so often with a swipe of his claws. He finished first, sinking his claws into Spike’s hips as he pulled back then plunged deep, roaring his completion at the ceiling. He pulled out of Spike and Angel smiled as he saw the short backwards facing barbs on the end of Red’s penis catch on Spike’s sphincter and tear it. Red backed up and watched the blood and his seed drip out of Spike’s torn hole while he waited for Blue to finish.

Blood poured down Spike’s chin when Blue’s barbed penis slid out of his throat, then Red reached out and jerked Spike up by the cuffs around his wrists. Spike’s arms lifted at a painful angle as he tried to get his feet under him, but Red pushed him to his knees before he’d managed it then shoved him toward a third demon who was reclining on the floor on some kind of cushion.

She was sort of greenish – oh look, a veritable rainbow of demons – and was holding a smaller demon to her chest, obviously an infant of their species. It was small when compared to the other demons, but Angel guessed it had to be about the size of a German Shepherd. She pulled the infant’s mouth away from her breast, causing it to wail loudly, then turned it so it was facing Spike, propping it up on the cushion before getting up and moving into the kitchen. 

Angel could see the bindings around Spike’s cock and balls and the cock ring that was meant to keep him erect. Red pushed Spike a little closer to the infant and its mouth latched hard onto Spike’s cock, alternately sucking and biting, and it reached out and started squeezing Spike’s balls with its clawed hand like it was milking a cow. Red reached between Spike’s legs and grabbed the plug that dangled there then stuffed it into Spike before pushing some buttons on a remote he held in his other hand. 

Spike tensed and started trembling and the infant started sucking, biting, and squeezing harder. Spike wasn’t giving it any nourishment, but apparently his cock served the infant as a pacifier and teething ring, and even without being able to see Spike’s face, Angel could tell how much pain the infant was causing him. 

Spike’s body was trembling in agony as the infant continued, but he held the position he’d been put into until the infant fell asleep nearly an hour later. Red had apparently been waiting for that because he was next to Spike almost immediately, after having had a meal and a short nap, and he jerked him back to his feet and dragged him over to the table.

Spike was once again bent over the table and the plug removed, but Red didn’t plunge his already hard cock into Spike right away. Instead, he dragged the barbed tip over Spike’s buttocks, the backs of his thighs, and his bound balls as Blue stepped up in front of Spike. He lifted Spike’s torso off the table then reached down and pulled Spike closer to it by his penis, smacking it down hard on the surface. Spike’s mouth opened in a howl of pain as he was bent forward over it, sandwiching the painfully swollen organ between the table top and his stomach. 

Red pressed down hard on Spike’s lower back and kicked his legs out from under him so that he was resting his entire weight on his penis before slamming in to the hilt in one vicious thrust. He pulled all the way out and gave Spike’s exposed balls several sharp slaps with the back of his hand then plunged in again, setting a punishing pace. Blue once again used Spike’s mouth brutally, shoving his barbed cock as far down Spike’s throat as it would go. 

When they were done, they switched places and took Spike again then Blue stuffed the plug back into Spike and turned it on high before lifting him off the table and shoving him toward Red. Blue grunted something then shuffled over to a bed in the corner and flopped down. Red woke the sleeping female and told her to feed and store the toy for the night then he stumbled past her and flopped down next to Blue. 

The female threw what Angel assumed to be a rude gesture in their direction then got up off the cushion and dragged Spike over to the opposite corner where a medium sized wooden crate sat. She dug in the crate and pulled out a plastic pouch of yellowish liquid then unfolded a small tube from the side and plugged it into the port in Spike’s belly button. She squeezed the pouch until it was empty then unplugged it and tossed it into the corner. She shoved Spike toward a ring bolted to the wall then turned him around and clipped his cuffs to it before moving over to her cushion and settling down next to the sleeping infant. 

Angel kept watching, telling the crystal to fast forward through some parts, like when Spike was standing there trembling while the demons slept, or when he was kneeling there trembling because the infant had been attached to his cock for hours. Watching Spike tremble wasn’t all that exciting, but even with the fast forwarding, Angel had noticed that the demons followed a fairly predictable pattern. 

After healing while they slept, Spike would be virgin tight again and they would start the day by brutally fucking him at both ends before giving him to the infant to use while they recovered enough to take him again. The cycle would repeat an average of eight times over the course of the day, until they dropped exhausted into bed. The female didn’t seem to have much interest in Spike, aside from having him keep the infant occupied while she slept or did other things, but Red and Blue made use of him just as many times as they physically could. Angel had to appreciate their stamina.

Angel figured the day he was watching now had to be the last day of the lease. Red and Blue had already had Spike twice, with a three hour long break between uses that they’d spent sleeping. The infant was currently gnawing on Spike’s cock while Red and Blue took another nap, but instead of making food or napping on her cushion, the female started cleaning up Spike’s storage area. She tossed all the empty feeding bags into the crate then nailed the lid on and carried it over to the door. Then she went outside and dragged in large washtub that she put in the center of the room. She gathered up a hose and some cleaning implements and set them next to the tub then went back to her cushion and napped until Red and Blue woke up.

When Red and Blue finally did, they rallied to take Spike once more, this time on his back on the table. Blue was using Spike’s cock as a handle as he drove into him, making sure to smash his protruding pelvic bone square into Spike’s balls on every thrust. Red took Spike’s mouth that time, bending his head back far enough over the edge of the table that Angel thought he’d break Spike’s neck. Red was holding Spike’s legs up by digging his claws into the soft flesh behind Spike’s knees and using them to brace himself as he pistoned in and out of Spike’s mouth. They both lasted a lot longer than Angel thought they would, pounding into Spike for nearly an hour before they climaxed. 

They dragged themselves to the bed and collapsed onto it, leaving the female with the task of cleaning the toy before it was returned to its owner… and she wasn’t happy about it. She left the sleeping infant on her cushion and walked over to the vampire still lying on the table with his legs in the air. He was a stinking mess. He hadn’t been cleaned at all in three weeks and he was caked in dirt, fresh and dried blood, and fresh and dried demon seed.

She pulled his legs down and roughly jerked him to his feet then shoved him toward the tub. She lifted him into it then picked up the hose, attaching one end to the kitchen sink and shoving the other end nearly a foot up Spike’s ass. She turned the hot tap on full blast, letting the scalding water fill him and drip out as she used a scrub brush to clean the rest of him, paying special attention to his cock and balls and making sure to scrub them extra hard. She even scrubbed the inside of Spike’s mouth, pushing the brush as far down his throat as the handle would allow.

When he’d been thoroughly scrubbed, the hose was yanked out of his ass and used to rinse him off and then he was left kneeling on a stack of towels to drip dry as the rest of the water inside him dribbled out. The infant woke up while the female was cleaning up the tub and she moved the stack of towels and the vampire kneeling on it over to the cushion, giving the infant Spike’s cock until the trainer arrived with the crate.

Angel rewound the part that showed the trainer walking around Spike and assessing his condition to see if the renters had violated their contract. Spike was standing where the washtub had been and Angel thought he looked like thirty miles of bad road. He’d seen Spike beat up before, hell, he’d done quite a bit of the beating up when Spike had been a fledge, and there was no way that the Spike who had been packed into that crate was in any kind of shape to be insulting him and ‘catching up’ with Buffy only a few hours later. 

After watching Spike’s training and service, Angel knew that the younger vampire was nothing but a broken, desiccated shell of what he’d once been. His training had been brutal, even by Angelus’ standards. He’d been whipped and beaten into a nearly unrecognizable lump, he’d been repeatedly raped by his trainer and numerous other demons, he’d been starved, had his fangs pulled, sprayed with holy water, had a cross strapped to his penis for three days, and he’d had his hearing, his voice, and his ability to scent taken from him. 

His fangs being pulled for the fourth time had happened on the same day his voice had been taken, and the two combined had apparently been the thing that had finally broken him completely. He’d stopped fighting back after that and had started obeying the commands he was given. There was nothing of the old Spike left in the body that walked around wearing his face. Nothing at all. So something was fishy. Either Buffy was lying, or what the crystal was showing him wasn’t right, and Angel meant to find out which one it was.

He was about to replay the trainer’s inspection again to see if there was anything he’d misjudged about Spike’s condition when something occurred to him. If the crystal could show him Spike’s slavery, couldn’t it show him what Spike was doing now? 

He held up the crystal and said, “Let me see Spike with Buffy.” Nothing happened. 

He said, “Let me see what Spike is doing now.” Nothing. 

He tried, “Let me see Spike in Rome.” Nope. 

He squeezed his hand around the crystal, nearly crushing it in his frustration, then forced himself to loosen his grip. He held up the crystal and spoke one last time, using the very first words he’d ever spoken to the crystal. “Let me see Spike.” 

He very nearly chucked the crystal across the room when nothing happened, but managed to restrain himself. Apparently the crystal would only show him events that had taken place in the slave dimension, but just to be sure it wasn’t broken, he held it up again and muttered, “Let me see Spike’s first renter, halfway through the lease.” 

An image flickered to life that showed a naked Spike hanging from his bound wrists as a snake-like demon circled him. The demon’s whip-thin tail snapped out, lashing across Spike’s back and leaving a line of blood as Spike arched in pain, his mouth open in a silent howl. The demon’s forked tongue flicked along the line, lapping up the blood while tears dripped from Spike’s eyes and his chest heaved with silent sobs. Then the tail snapped out again, this time across Spike’s lower belly. 

Angel closed his hand over the crystal, stopping the playback. That had gone on for five straight days, and by the time Spike’s trainer had shown up to collect him, Spike had been covered from head to toe in overlapping lash marks and he’d been nearly bled dry.

Angel leaned back in the chair. So, the crystal wouldn’t show him anything that had happened since Spike had left the slave dimension. That presented a problem. He’d meant for Spike to be so broken and useless when he was delivered to Buffy that she’d either stake him to put him out of his misery or send him back to LA for Angel to deal with. Either way, Spike would be out of Buffy’s life for good, although Angel had hoped she’d pick the second option. He looked over at the corner of the room, frowning at the chains, manacles, and table piled with torture instruments he’d brought down for that reason, and wondered how in the hell Spike was healthy enough to be ‘catching up’ with Buffy. 

He really needed to find out what was going on, but first he needed a little… relief. His cock was hard enough to pound nails and only his confusion over Buffy’s phone call had prevented him from letting himself go while he’d watched Spike’s last lease, but now… if he didn’t do **something** , he’d never be able to concentrate long enough to figure anything out.

He pocketed the crystal and let himself out of the meeting room then hurried back to his office. He reached for the still dangling handset then hung it up and punched a button on the phone. “Harmony, cancel the rest of my appointments for today… and tomorrow. You know what? Clear my schedule for the next week. I’ve got some things to do and then I’ll be going to Rome.” 

“But, Boss… you’re supposed to meet with that delegation about their clan war, and there’s those treaties to sign, and Wesley needs to talk to you about that research, and Gunn needs you to sign a deposition, and…”

“Just do it, Harmony.” He punched the button again to stop her whining then headed back to the meeting room, bouncing the crystal on his palm. 

Once he was settled on the bed just as naked as the day he was born, he laid the crystal on the mattress beside him then took his cock in hand and said, “Let me see Spike’s seventh punishment.” The image appeared and he started stroking as he groaned, “I always did like hot pokers.”

XX  
XXXX  
XX

Nearly three meeting room days later, Angel was still in bed, still naked, and still tossing off to Spike’s greatest hits. Something had been niggling at the back of his mind throughout it all, though, and he finally realized what it was as he watched a bulky demon impale Spike on his massive cock. Angel could clearly hear the grunts and groans of the demon as he lifted Spike then slammed him back down over and over, but even though Spike’s head was thrown back and his mouth was open in a howl of agony, he wasn’t making any noise.

Angel shot to a sitting position as he slapped his hand down on the crystal, ending the playback. He threw on his clothes and bolted for the door, muttering to himself, “He has no voice! I watched his trainer take it from him! So how in the hell did he **SAY** anything? He didn’t! Buffy is lying!”


	8. Awake

The next few chapters bounce back and forth between Buffy’s point of view and Spike’s.   
The differing points of view have been separated by this – XXXX. I hope this isn’t too confusing.

Service Unit  
Chapter Eight – Awake

As he slowly came back to consciousness, the muzzy feeling in his head told him exactly what had happened. His trainer had knocked him out for transport, and that could only mean one thing, especially so early into a new lease… he’d displeased his renter to such a degree that his contract had been terminated early.

This was only the third time that had happened to him. The first time hadn’t been his fault. His orifices had been incompatible with the appendages of his renter, so another slave had been brought in to fulfill the contract, but the second time… He hadn’t meant to bite down, but the renter had tapped him on the top of his head and his training had kicked in before his brain could process the fact that he had something delicate pushed halfway down his throat. The punishment session he’d endured after that incident still gave him nightmares.

He started trembling in fear at the thought of what his trainer would do to punish him this time. He sincerely wished that he had obeyed that command, but he still didn’t know what it was that she’d wanted him to do. Whatever it was, not doing it had displeased her enough that she’d decided to send him back instead of punishing him herself and continuing the lease. For some reason, that made him feel slightly better. He couldn’t remember her name, but he could remember HER, and he’d rather be punished for weeks by his trainer than have to suffer at HER hands. He was gladdened by the thought that she **wasn’t** the type of person who took pleasure in the sorts of things his renters had done to him over the years.

In fact, once he thought about it, she hadn’t really hurt him at all. Yes, her touches had been painful, but not very, and not at all like the pain he usually experienced when a renter touched him with their hands or claws or tentacles or whatever type of appendages they possessed, and he didn’t get the feeling that she’d been **trying** to cause him pain. 

A thought suddenly struck him. Maybe the lease hadn’t been terminated because he’d disobeyed… maybe she’d terminated it because she knew him and didn’t want him servicing her. She’d watched the entire demonstration after all, when she couldn’t see his face and didn’t know who he was. He was just her new pleasure slave then, but as soon as she’d seen his face… that’s when she’d instructed his trainer to take him away. He suddenly felt a pang of bitter disappointment that she’d decided to send him back, though, instead of helping him. He knew she helped people, but then again, he wasn’t people, was he? And he wasn’t fit to be in her company… not now… not after all that had been done to him, all the things he’d done in service to his renters. He was a thing, not a person… so there was no reason for her to want to help him. 

His head was starting to hurt. He wasn’t used to thinking about things this much. If he just did what he was told when he was told and focused all his energy on pleasing his renters and trainer then his existence was easier to bear. Thinking about what he’d lost and the people he’d known didn’t do anything but bring into stark clarity the fact that nobody at all cared about him or what had happened to him. He’d been a slave for years, probably decades, and nobody had even bothered to look for him, much less try to free him from his slavery. Maybe that’s why she was sending him back, because she knew exactly what was happening to him now and thought it a fitting punishment for things he’d done before he’d become a slave.

His stomach was starting to hurt right along with his head at the feelings of anguish and despair his thoughts were stirring up, so he tried to stop thinking altogether as he lay there with his eyes closed. A sudden chirping noise helped him do that when it startled him into complete stillness, not that he would’ve moved anyway. He’d been placed in this position and in this position he would remain until ordered to do otherwise, but… the noise sounded again and he drew in a shocked breath.

He could hear.

He lay perfectly still, stopping his breathing as he listened. He hadn’t heard anything for so long that he wasn’t quite convinced he actually **had** heard something until it sounded again and his brain automatically put a picture with the noise. A bird. He could hear a bird.

He immediately started taking stock, pushing all thoughts of her and his past out of his mind. He was lying flat on his back on something soft, and something soft and slightly heavy was covering him from collarbones to toes. He was still in pain, mostly located in his nether regions and abdomen, but it had lessened considerably, almost to the point of being unnoticeable. He twitched his hands ever so minutely and his fingertips brushed against fabric, and his hands weren’t restrained. He nearly started panicking at that. It had been years and years since he’d been left unrestrained for more than a moment or two, not since the very early days of his training. 

He took a deep breath through his nose to try to calm himself and nearly started panicking again. He could smell something. It was a sweet fragrance, and his brain supplied a picture of a purple flower and the word ‘lilac.’

He inhaled deeply, taking in other scents that his brain supplied the pictures and words for. Vanilla, lavender scented fabric softener, grass, sand, the ocean, bacon… and blood. His mind whirled and he started panting, unconsciously clutching at the fabric he was lying on with his fingers.

Another sound startled him and he stilled again. There were footsteps coming closer. He had to fight the sudden urge to move his hands into the proper position. He wasn’t allowed to be unrestrained and if the person coming toward him found him like this, he’d be punished. Severely. He tensed, clutching the fabric in his fists to keep himself where he was as the footsteps paused long enough for him to hear a door open. They started up again, steadily getting closer, and he forced himself to stay still. He didn’t want to be punished at all, but since he still had a punishment for disobedience on his schedule for the day, it would be better to only add a punishment for being unrestrained instead of adding that **and** a punishment for moving without command. 

It was too late to move his hands into the proper position now, anyway. He felt the presence of someone standing next to him and could smell their scent… the same lavender scent as the fabric he was lying on… and something else. Something powerful and intoxicating.

“Spike?”

He jumped. Then he waited. The person (a woman, based on the voice, his brain supplied helpfully) moved closer, and he felt what he was laying on (a bed) shift as she sat down next to him. Something thumped somewhere near his head (a mug being set down on a wooden table) and he could smell the warm, heady scent of blood. His mouth started to water and he swallowed heavily, his stomach cramping with hunger. 

He swallowed again, wondering if maybe that blood was for him, if he’d get to taste it, swallow down its rich, thick nourishment, because even though he couldn’t recall the last time he’d tasted any blood other than his own, his body apparently remembered it quite well and **wanted** it. But then reason kicked in and he forced himself to stop breathing so he wouldn’t be able to smell it anymore. The only things he’d swallowed since he’d been made a slave had been his own blood and gallons upon gallons of demon spunk, neither of which did anything to nourish or heal him. Since he’d woken up at the slave compound, he’d subsisted on a thick yellow goo that made his guts cramp in pain every time it was squeezed into his feeding port. So no, that blood wasn’t for him to eat. It couldn’t be. It was just a new way for his trainer to punish him. Give him his sense of smell back and then taunt him with something he’d never be allowed to have.

He waited, wondering how he’d be punished further, then he jumped again when the woman he’d very nearly forgotten about laid her hand on his arm.

“Spike? I know you’re awake. Please open your eyes.”

He was torn. He’d been given a command… sort of… but he hadn’t been trained to follow verbal commands and he didn’t know if he should follow that one or not.

Another voice sounded from further away. “He doesn’t respond to verbal commands, madam. You will have to use touch commands until he has acclimated to being able to hear again.”

There was a tap on his eyelid and he immediately opened his eyes then blinked against the light. When his vision cleared, he looked up at the woman sitting next to him. It was her. He cut his eyes toward where the other voice had come from. His trainer.

Something wasn’t right here and a deep well of fear burbled up from his stomach. Why was he unrestrained? His trainer had knocked him out and only did that in a renter’s presence when he was about to be transported. Was she still his renter? This was her personal space, by the scent, and if she was still his renter, then he shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be lying on her bed. It wasn’t allowed. He looked at her again, then back to his trainer, then at the floor – making sure to move only his eyes and nothing else – hoping that one of them would order him off the bed, or even better, out of the room. He didn’t notice that he’d started trembling hard enough to shake the bed as he kept cycling his gaze between them.

XXXX

Buffy looked over at the demon and asked, “What’s wrong with him? He looks terrified.”

The demon nodded. “He is. He knows he’s not allowed to be where his renter sleeps. When he’s not servicing a renter, he maintains whatever position the renter places him in or remains in his last position of service until the renter wants to use him again. But under no circumstances is he allowed in a renter’s personal space. It’s part of the contract. He shouldn’t even be in this room and he knows it. And he knows he’ll be punished for it. That’s why he’s terrified.”

“But I put him here! Why would **he** be punished for something **I** did?”

“He is a slave, madam. He knows only what he’s been trained to know. Rented slaves are not allowed to be in their renter’s personal space, even if it was the renter that put them there. And even if the renter is the one that violates the contract, the slave is the one punished for the violation. It is the way of things, however, once the transfer of ownership from my employer to you has been completed; he will do whatever you tell him to do and go wherever you tell him to go. But until he understands that you are his owner and not a renter, he will continue to follow the rules for rented slaves.”

“But I don’t own him! I don’t WANT to own him!”

The demon shrugged. “Then you must store him elsewhere, madam, or he will continue to live in fear of punishment for your actions. He doesn’t understand that he has been released from service. And, by the way, rented slaves that have been released from service do not fare well if they are not claimed by a new owner.”

Buffy stood up from the bed and stalked over to the demon. “How many rented slaves have been released from service?”

“Several. Most are given into service for their entire lives, and as long as they continue to be requested for rental, they remain in service. Occasionally, there are those that are only meant to serve for a specified length of time before they are released, but any released slave that is not claimed by a new owner usually dies because they are not able to think for themselves any longer, and if not cared for and fed, they will starve.”

Buffy’s shoulders slumped and she looked at the floor. “So if I want him to live, I have to own him? Tell him what to do?” She looked up at the demon. “Will he ever get back to the person he was before Angel sold him into slavery? Have ANY released slaves gotten their lives back?”

The demon nodded. “One that I know of, another vampire, but it took some time before it could act on its own without being ordered. Its training took almost as long as his did,” he nodded toward Spike, “because it was nearly as stubborn and strong-willed, but it was also in service over twice as long. Its family took it back once it had paid their debt, but being that vampires aren’t exactly known for their caring natures, it didn’t have someone as devoted to its rehabilitation as you are to his.”

Buffy smiled faintly. “So, you’re saying that because Spike is unbelievably stubborn… and because I’m almost as stubborn… that he has a good chance of getting back to what he was because he wasn’t a slave as long as the other guy?”

“I suppose it’s possible, madam, although I don’t know why you would want him to revert to his previous personality. If you knew how hard I worked to mold him into the fine pleasure slave he is…”

The demon’s head bouncing off Buffy’s bedroom wall stopped the noise spilling out of his mouth. Buffy leaned close as she tightened her hand around his throat. “Are you stupid or something? Have I not made it clear that I DON’T want a SLAVE? That I want my Spike back? The annoying, chain-smoking, snarking, pain in my ass that loves me? That I would give anything right now to have him slouched on my couch, clogging up my apartment with stinky cigarette smoke while he watches Passions, drinks whiskey, and yells at the TV? God! I’d buy him the damn cigarettes if he’d just…”

She stopped ranting and let go of the demon’s neck, taking a step back. “Okay. I get that you’re proud of the work you did to turn Spike into a slave, but here’s the thing… You have to make me a satisfied customer, right?” The demon nodded. “Good. So you’re staying here with us and doing absolutely everything you can to undo all that work. I don’t care how long it takes, but you are not leaving here until he…” she pointed at the terrified vampire on the bed, “is a walking, talking, eating, snarking, smoking, fighting, loving, annoying pain in the ass vampire. You get me?”

The demon managed to choke out through its abused throat, “Yes, madam, I understand.”

“Great. Let’s get to work.”


	9. Transfer

Service Unit  
Chapter Nine – Transfer

“I have to do WHAT to become his owner? Are you crazy? I’m not going to do that to him!”

“It is required for the transfer, madam. If you do not assume ownership, then you will never return him to what he was. He needs you to be responsible for him until such time as he can take over that responsibility. Once he has reached that point, you may perform another ownership transfer and give him ownership of himself, if you like. It is the only way. If you do not, then he will remain a slave.”

Buffy looked at the naked vampire currently kneeling in her living room. The trainer had done the tapping and guiding to get him out of her bedroom, and he did seem to be much calmer now, but he still hadn’t responded to anything she’d said to him or given any sign that he even knew who she was. He just knelt there, staring at the floor with his arms behind his back, his wrists once again cuffed together.

Buffy sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it. If it will help him, I’ll do it.” She looked over at the demon that was standing next to one of the smaller crates. “And when I do, will I be able to get him to respond when I talk to him? Will he be able to talk back?”

The demon nodded. “If you wish him to respond, madam, he will, although I doubt his responses will make much sense. He is not very bright, you see. It took many repetitions of basic commands and many different punishments for failing to follow those commands before he finally understood what he was meant to do.”

Buffy said very quietly, “I swear, you little cretin, if you EVER talk about Spike like that again…” then she found out what color the demon’s blood was when her fist flew out and punched him square in his left nose. He landed in a heap behind Spike, a Spike who didn’t even twitch as the demon flew over his head. She took a step toward him, her hands clenched into fists. “He’s smarter than you are! He writes poetry, for fuck’s sake! And he completely understood what you were trying to train him to do, you moron! He was just fighting back the only way he could! He was trying to make training him so hard that you’d get tired of trying and let him go! He managed to escape a Hell God by insulting her enough that she punched him through a door! And he’d have been insulting you with every breath if you hadn’t taken his voice!”

XXXX

It took almost everything in him not to duck as his trainer flew over his head, and then he held himself rigid when she started shouting, trying desperately not to flinch.

His terror at being in his renter’s personal space and then his relief at being ordered off her bed and out of her room had caused him to not hear anything that had been said. He’d been ordered to his knees and restrained again and that had brought another surge of relief. He was back on familiar ground and knew what he was supposed to do.

But then he’d just been left kneeling there, and the words that had previously washed over him started to stick. He’d been listening intently to their conversation for the last few minutes, and even though it irritated him that they were speaking about him as if he wasn’t there, he accepted it because what else could he do? He was a slave, and showing any reaction to the words being spoken would only result in punishment for moving without permission. 

The talk of ownership transfer troubled him, as he had no idea what that meant for him since he’d only been owned by his trainer for the whole of his slavery, but he smiled inwardly when his renter defended his intelligence. He **wasn’t** stupid and she’d been right about why he’d acted the way he had during training. It had failed miserably, of course, and they’d finally broken him and had turned him into the pathetic creature he now was.

XXXX

The demon sat up, holding his bleeding nose with one hand while he raised the rest of his hands in supplication. “I apologize, madam, but please understand, I am a slave trainer, one of the best in my dimension, and as such, I am experiencing great difficulty in conforming to your views on the subject. I believe I now understand your stance on the matter and will try to temper my comments to conform to that ideal. But please, could you refrain from causing damage to my person?”

Buffy snorted. “Not a snowball’s chance in hell. Like you said, you’re a slave trainer, and I’m sure you’ve used pain as a training tool on Spike, so the next time your mouth drives off before your brain is buckled up, you’ll get the same kind of treatment you gave him. Sucks to be on the other side, huh? Now get off your ass and let’s get this transfer done.”

The demon nodded and stood up, wiping the blood from his nose with a torn bit of his robe. “As you wish, madam.” He stepped up in front of Spike, holding the long, black stick in one hand. 

“Hang on.”

The demon turned to face her. “Yes?”

“You said that you have to transfer Spike’s ownership from your employer to me, but how can **you** do that? Wouldn’t your employer have to do that?”

“No, madam. You see, I own him,” he motioned to Spike, “and because my employer owns me, he also owns anything I own, but I am able to transfer ownership of my slaves if he approves the transfer, which he has.”

“Oh, okay, that makes sense, in a really sick and wiggy way. Go ahead.”

The demon nodded then turned and tapped Spike on the hip and shoulder and Spike rose gracefully to his feet, keeping his eyes down until he was tapped on the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes as the trainer reached up and clasped a leather collar around his neck with two hands while another reached down and wrapped around his penis, bringing it quickly to full hardness. The trainer wrapped a leather ring around the base then moved around behind Spike and tapped him on the back of the neck. Spike knelt again and bent forward, pressing his forehead against the floor.

Buffy blanched, quickly swallowing down the bile that rose in her throat as the demon shoved all the fingers on one hand – heavily lubricated at her insistence – into Spike and thrust them in and out nearly two dozen times. Spike barely flinched, and he only tensed up a little, so at least she knew that the pain amplification was really turned off and he wasn’t hurting as much as he had been. 

The demon removed his fingers then tapped Spike on the hip and ankle, bringing him to a sit-kneel. He stepped in front of the vampire and tapped his bottom lip, thankfully not with the hand he’d just had buried in Spike’s ass, and Spike opened his mouth. The demon thrust two fingers into Spike’s mouth and Spike started sucking on them. The demon let him continue for a minute or two then withdrew his fingers and reached out to tap Spike on the top of his head then the back of his neck. Spike closed his mouth as he bent forward and raised his backside, once again pressing his forehead against the floor.

XXXX

He smothered the smile that wanted to burst forth when his renter threatened to give his trainer the same kind of treatment he’d been receiving during his slavery. Well… not the **same** treatment, obviously, but similar, he supposed. He sincerely doubted that she could perform most of the acts his trainer had perpetrated on his body. For one, she didn’t have the right appendages, and for two, she wasn’t as depraved and sadistic as his trainer was. At least he didn’t remember her being that way.

He’d been thinking too hard again and had missed the rest of the conversation. A set of taps on his hip and shoulder caused his training to override his thoughts and he rose to his feet, keeping his eyes on the floor in front of his toes. And there was the command ordering him to close his eyes. His trainer only let him keep them open when he wanted to taunt him with whatever torture tool he was about to use, or let him see the size of the cock on the next creature that had been ordered to rape him as part of a punishment.

He felt his familiar leather collar being fastened around his neck while another of his trainer’s hands closed on his cock and started stroking and squeezing roughly. What was going on? The reassertion of ownership was never performed in the presence of a renter. It was only done at the end of a lease once he’d been unpacked from his crate at the slave compound. A frisson of fear wormed through him and he wished he’d been listening to what they’d said. Maybe then he’d know what was going to happen to him.

His body didn’t need to know what was going on, though, because it responded as it had been trained to, his cock filling and rising from the contact even though it was painful. His trainer wrapped a ring around the base to keep him erect then ordered him into the display position.

He knew what was going to happen next. And he knew it would hurt. It always did. And this time it would hurt a lot more than usual because he hadn’t been wearing his plug, so his slightly healed hole was dry and unprepared. His trainer was a rather small demon with a disproportionally huge cock. A cock that would split him nearly in two when the trainer reasserted ownership of his slave’s ass by ramming in to the hilt in one brutal stroke. His blood would ease the way for the rest of the pounding he was about to receive until his trainer’s acidic semen exploded into him and started burning with an intensity akin to holy water. Thankfully it didn’t burn for very long, and didn’t cause any permanent damage, but while it was active, he’d be writhing on the floor in agony as it felt like his guts were being melted into sludge.

He took a deep breath and held it, trying to brace himself for the agony that was about to rip through his body. He flinched slightly and his breath left him in a startled gush when he felt fingers enter him instead. Lubed fingers. He tensed in pain as they stretched his abused hole, but the amount of pain wasn’t anything near what it usually was. Compared to the pain he usually felt when he was breached, the thrusting fingers were almost a gentle caress.

They’d bumped his prostate for the fifth or sixth time and he was actually starting to enjoy the thrusting when the fingers slid out of him and a few taps commanded him back to a sit-kneel. The trainer stepped in front of him and tapped his bottom lip and he had no idea what to expect next, no idea at all. A normal ownership assertion would have his trainer shoving that massive cock down his throat, fucking his face for hours while his trainer built back up to another explosive climax that would leave him writhing on the floor in agony again while he waited for the acid to stop burning. But since his trainer hadn’t taken his ass, he didn’t know what was going to happen now, and the not knowing was terrifying.

Two slim fingers slipped into his mouth and he immediately started fellating them. He curled his tongue around them and between them and sucked, just like he’d been trained to do whenever anything was inserted into his mouth. After a few moments the fingers were withdrawn and his trainer tapped on his head then the back of his neck. He closed his mouth and assumed the display position, his mind a roaring tidal wave of confusion and terror as he waited to see what would happen next.


	10. Owned

Service Unit  
Chapter Ten – Owned

The demon stepped away from Spike and held out the stick to Buffy. She took it reluctantly and looked over at Spike as the demon asked, “Have I explained the transfer procedure to your satisfaction, madam?”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah. You’ve just claimed him as his owner by putting your collar on him and demonstrating your possession of and control over his body, especially the…” she swallowed down some more bile, “…parts of his body used in his service as a pleasure slave.” She took a deep breath and continued, “He only wears the collar when he’s… ugh… ‘at home’ just sounds so wrong. That place is NOT his home… ugh… whatever. He only wears the collar when he’s at home. When he’s being rented out, the collar comes off, meaning to him that his owner is allowing others to use his property however they want… within the limits of the contract of course… your dimension must be a really repulsive place to live, by the way, and when his lease is up, he goes ‘home’ and the collar is replaced, meaning to him that he is once again his owner’s exclusive property.”

The demon nodded. “You grasp the details quite well, madam.”

Buffy snorted. “Yeah… I’m a fabulous student. Blech. I’d rather be learning freaking French or something right now. And I hate French.” Buffy tightened her grip on the stick in her hand. “So now I have to claim him as his owner by removing your collar and putting mine on. Then I have to do all the things you did, but instead of just making him hard, I have to…” She paused to swallow down more bile– she really needed a Tums or something to calm the acid in her stomach – before taking another deep breath and continuing, “I have to make him come, to show that I control any pleasure he feels as a non-renting-him-out owner. Right? That will show him that he’s only mine and he’ll understand that nobody else will get to… ugh… use him?”

“Yes, madam. What you do during the transfer will tell him what kind of slave you expect him to be.”

“Ugh… have I mentioned the ugh? I really, really, really don’t want to do this to Spike. God, this is so very disturbing.” She stepped away from Spike and sat down on the couch, letting the stick fall onto the floor at her feet as she dropped her head into her hands.

The demon looked perplexed and he stared at her for a few minutes before speaking quietly, “I do not mean to upset you, madam, but I do not understand. You find sexual interaction with him disturbing? Are you not versed in sexual acts?” He looked over at Spike. “Do you not find his form appealing? And please do not inflict more damage on my person for saying this, but his appearance was one of his main selling points and one of the reasons the fees for his services were much higher than other units.”

Buffy raised her head and looked up at the demon, restraining herself from punching him in his other nose, but only just. “Of course I find him appealing, you idiot. He’s hot, anybody with eyes can see that, and yes, I’m ‘versed’ in sexual acts. Spike taught me pretty much all of them, by the way, and it’s not being with Spike sexually that I find disturbing… it’s **why** I have to do it. I have to claim him as my property, which is disturbing on so many levels. He’s not property… a toaster is property, or a TV, or a car, but not Spike… and I really don’t want to treat him like he is, but because of what you did to him, what Angel did to him, if I want to help him at all, I have to. And that disturbs me.” She looked over at Spike. “And it’s also disturbing that I have to do sexual things to Spike while you’re here. That is WAY disturbing. Things like that are private.”

The demon took a step back. “I only need be present for the collar transfer, madam. Once you have placed your collar and given mine to me, my part of the transfer process is complete.”

Buffy sighed in relief. This whole thing was wigging her out, but at least she wouldn’t have to molest Spike in front of a witness. And that’s what she would be doing… molesting the man she loved, inflicting just one more violation on him. She suddenly hated Angel with every fiber of her being. It wasn’t like she and Spike would’ve had an easy path even **without** all the slavery shit to deal with. Nobody, except for Dawn, was really on board the ‘Buffy Loves Spike’ train and they’d been on her ass about him all week, trying to talk her out of even seeing him. And now? She had absolutely no idea how she was going to explain **this** ; her very own vampire sex slave. God, sometimes her life sucked **SO** much.

She took a deep breath and stood up, moving toward the door. Her friends and their issues with her love life would just have to wait. Spike needed her to focus on nothing but him if she was ever going to bring him out of this, so she locked, bolted, and chained the door, then propped a chair under the handle for good measure. Knowing the Scoobies, even though most of them were currently in England, the distance wouldn’t necessarily stop them from showing up at her door for some kind of ‘intervention’ if they thought she needed one. They’d already threatened exactly that the last time she’d spoken to them about Spike, and she’d tried to explain, yet again, that she was an adult and more than capable of handling her own life. Telling them politely to butt out and mind their own beeswax had gone over about as well as a whore in church, but dammit! It was her life! Not theirs! You’d think they’d at least be happy that she’d found someone to share her life with, but nooooo… They were all – he’s no good for you, Buffy – he’ll only hurt you, Buffy – he’s tried to kill us all, Buffy. It seemed that as soon as they’d left California, they’d completely forgotten how much he’d changed… how he’d sacrificed himself to save them all… and they’d snapped right back to ragging on him and pointing out every little thing he’d ever done wrong.

She clenched her hands into fists then stomped over to her answering machine. She hit ‘record memo’ and said as calmly as she could manage, “Hi guys, I know why you’re calling and no, I’m not going to talk to you right now. Spike and I are catching up and I won’t be answering the door or the phone or coming in to work until we’re done, so please leave us alone until I contact you. And yes, Giles, that means you, too. If there’s an apocalypse, get somebody else on it. I know you don’t like Spike, but I love him and I’m all grown up now, so if you guys love me at all, please just stay out of it. Dawnie, just leave what I asked you to get outside my door, and I’ll call you when I need you, K? I love you all. Bye.” She set the memo as the greeting to play whenever anyone called her number then picked up the phone and turned the ringer off.

The demon was looking at her strangely as she bent to snag the stick then moved to stand in front of Spike. She shrugged. “My friends don’t like him and don’t want me to be involved with him, even after he died saving their freaking lives. My sister is the only one who thinks it’s a good idea, mostly because he never tried to kill her like he tried to kill the rest of us, I guess, or maybe because she had a crush on him for the longest time.” Buffy smiled wistfully. “My Mom really liked him, though, and I know she’d be happy about it.” She laughed quietly. “He never tried to kill her, either.” Buffy smirked at the demon’s look of confused alarm. “Yeah, Spike and I have a pretty complicated history. And hey, I just realized… we’re tied in the ‘not staying dead’ games. We’ve both died twice now, that’s kind of cool.”

The demon just nodded, still wearing a look of utter confusion as Buffy tapped Spike on the shoulder and hip. Spike rose to his feet and Buffy reached up and tapped one eyelid with her fingertip. He opened his eyes and she smiled at him as she tossed the stick onto the couch then reached up to remove the collar. He tensed when her fingers touched it, but that was all the reaction she got as she unbuckled it then turned to hand it to the demon. 

The trainer bowed as he said, “I give my slave over to you, madam, to do with what you will,” then he straightened up and tore the collar into two pieces, dropping them on the floor at his feet.

That got a reaction out of Spike. He flinched violently as the pieces of the collar hit the floor then he looked at his trainer in terror. Buffy reached into her back pocket and retrieved the silk scarf she was going to use as a collar, being that she wasn’t into that kind of thing and didn’t just have people collars lying around. She held it up where Spike could see it then reached up toward his neck and whispered, “I’m going to make you mine, Spike. You’ll never be rented out to anyone ever again, I promise.” She looped the scarf loosely around his neck then tied the ends in a knot so that it looked like a badly done up cravat. 

She turned to the demon and bowed as she said, “I accept your slave and claim him as my own.” She straightened up and pointed to the spare bedroom door. “Go in there and wait until I come get you. And plug your ears… all of them. What’s gonna happen in here next is none of your damn business.”

The demon nodded and turned for the bedroom. “As you wish, madam.”

Buffy waited until the door had closed then she waited a few more minutes to give the demon time to plug up all his ears. When she turned back to Spike, he was watching her with wide, frightened eyes, his arms and legs quivering nearly hard enough to knock him down. He obviously knew what was going to happen next and he was scared.

XXXX

He was working to rein in his fear by taking shallow, barely noticeable breaths as he pressed his forehead into the floor hard enough to cause a bruise. He was trying to find something to ground himself with, and pain usually seemed to serve that purpose, so he clenched his hands into fists and drove his fingernails into his palms. The bright, sharp bursts of pain in his palms soothed him somewhat and he was able to focus on the conversation.

He heard his renter say something about this being disturbing and he had to heartily agree. Of course this was disturbing. What was going on? Why was his trainer asserting ownership in a renter’s home? That had never happened before. And why had he been so gentle doing it? THAT had certainly never happened before, either.

He turned off his thoughts as best he could and listened, but nobody was currently speaking, so he let his mind wander just a bit. His renter kept referring to him as Spike, but the name felt foreign and wrong when he tried to apply it to himself. It felt like a badly made, too small shirt he was trying to cram his body into, but if that’s what she wanted to call him, then that’s what he would answer to. At least it was an actual name. He hadn’t been called anything but ‘slave’ or ‘Service Unit 238’ since he’d woken in the slave compound, and any name he’d had before that had drowned in the sea of constant agony that had been his first several months of captivity.

His ears perked up when his trainer started speaking and he listened intently to what his renter said in response. She thought he was appealing, and even though he couldn’t remember doing it, apparently he’d taught her what she knew about sex, if, in fact, he was this Spike she was talking about. That made a small bit of warm pride bloom in his chest, but what she said next had him barely keeping his mouth from popping open in shock. 

She didn’t think of him as property. But he was. He was a slave, a service unit, had been for years, but she didn’t think so, and she didn’t want to treat him that way. And she didn’t want to use him in front of others. She was still **going** to use him, but according to her, she would be doing it to help him. 

He was so confused. Nothing here was as it should be and he was starting to get tired of trying to figure it all out. He wanted to hope that maybe he was finally being rescued, but it had been so long since he’d had ANY hope in that direction that he didn’t even know what it felt like anymore. 

He heard her move around the room, locking a door and dragging a chair over toward it, then she started speaking again, but not to him or his trainer. She said the word ‘Giles’ and his stomach clenched slightly, although he didn’t know why. The word ‘Dawnie’ also caused a reaction, but not a clenching of his stomach. That word made him want to smile, something he couldn’t remember doing in all the time he’d been a slave.

He didn’t hear anything spoken after that word because he was busy seeing a picture in his head of a tall, thin, brunette girl. She was looking up at him, her big, blue eyes full of trust and love, and if he’d been standing instead of kneeling on the floor, he probably would’ve collapsed. Her name was Dawn. He KNEW that just like he knew he was a slave. Another name was tickling at the back of his mind now, but he couldn’t quite grab it. Nib… Nibbles? Something starting with N, he was sure of it. 

A pair of taps and he rose to his feet, shutting off his thoughts as he did. A tap on his eyelid had him opening his eyes to see his renter smiling at him. She reached up and touched his collar and he tensed. Nobody was allowed to touch that except his trainer, but she was unbuckling it from around his neck and his trainer was just standing there watching her do it. The last creature that had dared touch his collar had had to be sponged off the floor, the walls, and the ceiling once his trainer had finished with it. So what did that mean? What was going on? 

Then she handed his collar to his trainer and his trainer tore it in half and dropped the pieces. He flinched before he could stop it and his mind reeled. His trainer had disowned him. He was less than worthless now. He’d seen what had happened to other slaves who’d had their collars torn because they weren’t being requested for rental anymore. They’d been put outside the gate of the compound where they could go their own way as free creatures or wait for someone else to claim ownership. Most had been picked up by passing demons, but a few had stood outside the gate in whatever position they’d been placed in until they’d collapsed. Then they’d lain there until they’d starved to death.

Why had he been disowned? He’d been one of the most requested units in the compound, with some of his rental contracts booked years in advance, so why? What had he done? He knew he’d disobeyed practically the very first order his new renter had given him, but he’d been good since then, hadn’t he? And it’s not like his trainer didn’t enjoy punishing him, considering that he found so many reasons to do so, so why was he tearing his collar instead of hanging him to be whipped? Who was going to take care of him now? Where would he go? He had nothing, no one. He didn’t even know where he was. Or who he was.

He was free now. Un-owned. And he was terrified. He didn’t know if he COULD be free. His training was so deeply entrenched that he doubted he could even **force** himself to do anything he wasn’t ordered to do. The only thing he was fully in charge of at all was his breathing. Whether or not to breathe had been the only choice he’d been allowed to make for himself during his slavery, whenever there wasn’t something shoved so far down his throat that it blocked his airway, of course. Anything else had been decided for him, trained into him, or had been a visceral reaction to whatever was being done to him. 

He was suddenly sure that he couldn’t be free. Not at all. He was going to stand wherever he was told and let himself die. Just like the others had.

Something the color of fresh blood suddenly appeared in his line of vision. His renter was holding up a strip of cloth… no, she couldn’t be his renter since he was no longer owned, so what was she now? His thoughts were interrupted when she whispered, “I’m going to make you mine, Spike. You’ll never be rented out to anyone ever again, I promise.” 

She wound the cloth around his neck and tied the ends in a knot and he nearly collapsed in relief, his limbs shaking as he worked to stay on his feet. She was claiming him! He was owned again! Well, almost. She still had to do the rest of the ownership assertion, and being that she was female; she didn’t have the right appendages. She’d have to use a dildo to properly claim his ass and he hoped she’d pick one of the smaller ones instead of the demonstration model. Even though he’d been slightly stretched by his trainer, it wasn’t nearly enough to be able to take that monster without blinding agony. In fact, he hadn’t been prepared well enough to take any of them without quite a bit of pain.

A thought suddenly struck him and the shaking of his limbs became more pronounced. What if she… she didn’t want to cause him pain, did she? She hadn’t so far, at least not intentionally, he didn’t think, but what if…

She turned to face him and frowned.


	11. Tilt

Service Unit  
Chapter Eleven – Tilt

Buffy was wearing a frown as she watched the flicker of fear cross his face, then she shook her head slightly and smiled at him in a way he would hopefully find reassuring. “I’m going to try not to hurt you, Spike. I don’t want to hurt you.” She moved around behind him and unbuckled the cuffs, tossing them once again into the toy crate where they would stay. Those nasty things would never again touch Spike. Ever.

She picked up the small tube of lube resting on a table and squirted some into the palm of her right hand then took his right hand in her left and walked around to stand in front of him. She hated herself for doing it, but she tapped him in the center of his chest to keep him from ejaculating then undid the ring around his penis and tossed it into the crate before wrapping her lubed hand around him. 

He was still raw and it looked terribly painful, so she was stroking him as gently as she could, but apparently he was enjoying it because his eyes widened and he started to pant. His eyes widened even further when Buffy leaned up and claimed his mouth in a gentle, probing kiss. She lifted the hand she’d been holding and placed it on the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair. He clenched them slightly as she deepened the kiss and his eyes drifted shut as she explored him. She was still wary of hurting him further, but she increased the pressure and speed just a little when he started minutely thrusting his hips in time with her motions. His hand tightened in her hair as he came with a raspy moan that was barely audible. 

Buffy rested her forehead on his chest as it heaved with rough breathing and waited until he’d calmed somewhat, then she lifted her head, wearing a bright smile, only to see Spike’s face frozen in fear. “What is it, Spike? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t look as if he was going to respond for a long minute then he closed his eyes and opened them. He did that twice more before Buffy finally got it. “Oh, no, Spike. You’re not in trouble because you closed your eyes without being commanded to.” She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips. “You can do stuff without me telling you to, because I don’t want you to be my slave; I want you to be my boyfriend… no, that sounds too… you’d be laughing right now if you were your normal self. Uh… lover just sounds so… um… how about partner? That sounds kind of weird, too, but I guess it’ll work. No… how about this? I want you to be my guy, and I’ll be your girl. I want you to live here with me because I love you, and I want to give you just as much pleasure as you give me. It’s not going to be all one sided, Spike. I want to make you feel good, too.”

Spike tilted his head just slightly and Buffy nearly screamed with joy. He was still in there! She wondered how much of what she’d said to him he’d actually understood, but that small sign gave her hope that maybe she’d be able to help him dig his way out and he’d be Spike again. She beamed a smile at him and reached up to grasp the back of his neck, meaning to pull him into another kiss, but apparently her touch felt like a tap because Spike suddenly stepped back then dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead against the floor at her feet. He lifted his hands to his lower back and pressed his wrists together.

XXXX

She frowned at him for a few seconds then smiled, although he could tell it was mostly forced. He dared to feel relieved when she said she didn’t want to hurt him then she moved behind him and unbuckled his cuffs, once again leaving him to try to hold his hands in the uncomfortable position. He nearly jumped when she took one of his hands in hers and walked around to stand in front of him again, and his relief turned to fear once more when she tapped him in the center of his chest.

It was the command not to ejaculate when the ring around his cock was released and he steeled himself for its removal, his hopes dashed that he’d be allowed to feel any pleasure. True, an orgasm from the ring’s removal wasn’t as pleasurable as being stroked to completion, but it felt a lot better than being forced to hold it back while he was manipulated and teased. Some renters would do that to him over and over… bring him to the brink of an explosive orgasm only to replace the ring and leave him in frustrated agony for hours or days while they took their pleasure in his body. Other times, they’d stop just before the pinnacle moment and leave him hard and weeping until he deflated naturally, the ache in his balls growing to a fiery agony after the tenth or fifteenth time.

In his entire time as a slave, he’d only been allowed four actual orgasms, and all of those had been with one of his earliest renters. She’d chained him to a bed and the first two hours of his service had been the best he’d felt since he’d been captured. She’d lovingly stroked him and kissed him and in general had worshipped his body, bringing him off with her hands and mouth.

He’d floated in a haze of bliss for a few short minutes before she’d decided to engage in much more painful pursuits involving that thrice damned plug and a vibrating cock ring. She’d gotten him hard again then had applied both items before proceeding to ride him for hours. She’d climaxed several times then she’d left him hard and leaking while she rested up enough to climb back on. 

He’d endured two solid weeks of the plug vibrating on the highest setting along with the ring vibrating on his cock, and by the end of it, he’d been genuinely surprised that his cock hadn’t fallen off and his balls hadn’t exploded. When he’d been unpacked from his crate at the compound, his trainer hadn’t ordered him not to ejaculate, and when the ring had been removed, he’d collapsed from the pain of finally being allowed his release. His balls had felt like they’d turned themselves inside out as his seed had boiled up through his cock, feeling like super heated acid. The cross he’d had strapped to his cock as a punishment hadn’t hurt that much. 

He’d been lost in memories and had barely felt the removal of the ring, but the warm pressure of her small hand now sliding up and down his length brought his mind crashing back to the present. Even though his cock was still raw and abraded from his previous renter’s use, she’d used lube, and what she was doing felt good. Really good. He wanted to lose himself in the sensations and let his body respond to something that had been denied to him for years… a touch meant to cause pleasure instead of pain… but he kept himself in check, trying to maintain proper service unit behavior. 

And then she kissed him.

She lifted his hand to her head and her soft hair twined through his fingers as her tongue slid against his. She explored every part of his mouth and she tasted wonderful, warm and sweet, and his eyes closed of their own accord as he let himself go, swimming in pleasure.

She increased the speed of her strokes and his orgasm broke over him like a wave of warm water, his fingers clutching at her hair to keep himself from floating away. 

She was leaning against him, resting her forehead on his chest, when he realized what he’d done. He snapped his eyes open, hoping against hope that she hadn’t seen, that maybe she hadn’t noticed, but… of course she had. She’d had her eyes open when she’d started kissing him, so of course she’d seen him close his without permission. She was going to punish him now. She had to.

Knowing that he’d behaved so badly when she’d given him such pleasure ripped at him. She’d been so kind to him and he couldn’t even repay that kindness by behaving properly. He was useless. And he deserved punishment. 

He steeled himself as she lifted her head away from his chest, trying to keep the fear of what she was about to do to him off his face, but he failed at that, too. Her smile turned into a frown when she saw him then she asked him what was wrong.

Didn’t she know? Hadn’t she seen? Or was this a test to see if he’d admit to it? Would she punish him more harshly if he did or if he didn’t? He suppressed a tired sigh. It really didn’t matter either way, he supposed. He deserved a punishment… several, in fact… so what did it matter how harshly she punished him? It was her right, after all. She owned him and she could do whatever she wanted to him. 

He decided to be honest and admit his transgression. He quickly closed his eyes then opened them. She just stared at him in confusion so he did it again. And again. Then her face melted into comprehension and she said he wasn’t in trouble. What? How could he not be? 

She kissed him again, not the deep, probing kiss of a few minutes ago, just a quick press of her lips to his, but his brain shorted out for a few seconds. When he came back, she was saying, “live here with me because I love you, and I want to give you just as much pleasure as you give me. It’s not going to be all one sided, Spike. I want to make you feel good, too.”

Out of all of that, his brain fixated on one word. Love. It stirred something deep inside him that he hadn’t felt in he couldn’t remember how long, but he quickly slammed the door on it. Going down that path meant nothing but pain, he was sure of it. And it would be the kind of pain that he couldn’t push to the back of his mind and try to ignore. Nobody **loved** him. He was a service unit, a slave… a toy… and nobody **loved** their toys. They might experience enjoyment from using them or appreciate the fact that they have one, but love was something reserved for people… not things. 

Then his brain processed the rest of what she’d said – mainly the part about making him feel good – and he had the sudden urge to tilt his head in wonder that she’d even care how he felt or if he was enjoying the things she did to him. He managed to stop the movement before he’d moved very far, though. Even though she didn’t seem to be upset by his disobedience so far, he didn’t want to push it. He’d seen her anger directed at his trainer and he really didn’t want it directed at him. 

The way his trainer had flown over his head proved that she was a lot stronger than she looked and could probably cause him endless amounts of pain should she choose to do so. She hadn’t so far… well, yes, she’d caused him pain, but compared to what he normally experienced, it was so little as to be non-existent… and he’d enjoyed the first part of the ownership assertion… very much… but he certainly didn’t expect that kind of treatment to continue. He wasn’t here to be serviced; his purpose was to service **her** , bring **her** pleasure, and if he didn’t start doing his job… He suppressed a shudder. He didn’t particularly care to imagine what kinds of things she could do when she was angry. 

He needed to get out of his head, stop thinking so much, and start behaving properly. He needed to prove that he was a good slave so she’d want to keep him, because even if he never experienced another orgasm as long as she owned him, he’d still rather be here than anywhere else. She’d promised not to rent him out, not to let others use her toy, and just for that he’d spend the rest of his days bringing her pleasure in every way he knew how.

She reached up and touched the back of his neck and he immediately backed up a step then dropped into the display position, moving his hands into their proper place at his low back. It was time for her to claim his ass and he vowed to take whatever pain she was about to inflict as a good slave should.


	12. Learning

Service Unit  
Chapter Twelve – Learning

Buffy stared down at him for a few minutes then sighed. This was apparently going to take a hell of a lot more than a couple of kisses, a hand job, and a babbling declaration of love. She sighed again as she stepped around behind him. One more part of the ownership transfer needed to be done and then she could work on trying to get him to talk. He’d moaned when he’d climaxed, probably without realizing it, so she knew he could make sounds, she’d just have to figure out how to get _him_ to realize he could.

She looked down at his raised backside. He had the lube she’d insisted on smeared all around his anus and it was mixed with some blood, so his trainer had reopened a few of the tears. Buffy clenched her clean hand into a fist then stalked into the kitchen. She washed her hands then wet two clean dishcloths and went back out to the living room.

XXXX

He waited, inwardly flinching both times she sighed. Apparently he’d done something wrong… again… and she was getting frustrated with him. Why didn’t she just punish him and get it over with? He’d done so many things wrong, even though he hadn’t meant to, and any other renter or his trainer would have punished him several times by now. Maybe she was waiting until he was fully claimed before she meted out the punishment he so obviously deserved. That had to be it.

He pushed all thoughts of punishment out of his mind and tried not to tremble as she stepped behind him. He hadn’t noticed any of the dildos sitting out waiting for use, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. He wasn’t allowed to look around, after all, so if they’d been placed somewhere behind him, he wouldn’t have seen them anyway.

He tried to relax as much as he could, even though he knew it wouldn’t really make that much of a difference. None of the dildos in his toy kit were small or comfortable by any stretch of the imagination. They were meant to cause pain. A few of them had rough protrusions that would tear him and make him bleed, and one had spikes half an inch long that could be extended while the dildo was inside him. Some renters retracted the spikes before they removed the dildo and some… didn’t. 

He almost jumped when she walked past him and into the kitchen. He heard water running and then she was walking toward him again and he had to fight to keep himself from trembling. He’d had quite a lot of practice at being violated, usually in the most brutal ways possible, and it worried him that he was suddenly so afraid of it. 

He wasn’t afraid of the pain. He was **tired** of it, but he wasn’t **afraid** of it. Being in pain was a normal part of his existence and it was her right as his owner to cause him pain if she so chose. He suddenly blinked in realization. He was afraid that she’d **enjoy** causing him pain. Knowing that she liked hurting him would hurt more than whatever she was doing to him.

He felt a tremble trying to work free and tensed, rigidly holding position. It would make whatever she’d decided to claim his ass with hurt more, but it couldn’t be helped. His body was betraying him and he needed to rein it in and make it behave properly. He would endure whatever she was about to do, no matter how much it hurt, and then once she’d fully claimed him, he’d be the very best slave he could be.

XXXX

Spike hadn’t moved, of course, and she stepped up behind him again and gently laid one of the cloths over his hole. He jerked and huffed out some air in a startled gasp then seemed to relax just a little. She pressed lightly and held it for a few minutes, until the heat had leached out of the cloth, then she lifted it away and tossed it into the crate. She used the other cloth to carefully clean him up then she tossed that one into the crate as well.

She stood behind him, considering her next move, and had to blink back sudden tears. She knew Spike was resilient and a survivor and could adapt to pretty much any circumstance to ensure that survival… and it was patently obvious that he’d adapted to his current circumstances, but… could he un-adapt? Twenty three years was a long time. Twenty three years of pain and torture and rape and who knew what else. Would he ever be able to stop reacting like a slave whenever someone touched him? Or was that so deeply ingrained in him now that he’d never be rid of it even if his normal personality returned? Another flash of anger washed through her at what had been done to the once vibrant and full of life vampire she’d known. 

He wasn’t restrained, but he still had his wrists pressed together at his low back, like he didn’t know what else to do with his hands. Hell, he hadn’t been allowed to use his hands for most of his time as a slave, so he probably **didn’t** know what to do with them. She needed to get through to him that she wasn’t going to restrain him and that he could put his hands wherever he liked, and if she was ever going to rehabilitate the traumatized vampire, she needed to get him off his knees and back on his feet… literally and figuratively. It looked like getting him to talk was going to have to move to a back burner for a while. There were several other bridges that needed to be crossed first, and if they were ever going to get to the end of the long road ahead, she needed to get with the crossing. She looked over at the command stick on the couch then shook her head. No, she wasn’t going to use that thing anymore.

XXXX

He slowly drew in a lungful of air as she stepped behind him then held it, preparing himself for the pain. He jerked in surprise and gasped out nearly all the air he’d drawn in when he felt a warm, wet cloth press against his entrance. She held light pressure on it and it felt… nice. It was soothing against his torn and abused flesh and he relaxed slightly.

The wiping with the second cloth was uncomfortable, but not overly painful, and then she stood back from him. He waited, slowly tensing back up as she just stood there. What was she doing? Why had she cleaned him before claiming him? His trainer had never cleaned him. Not once. Whenever he’d been at the slave compound – being claimed, punished, or stored – he’d been left covered in blood, demon spunk, and various other substances, but he’d only been cleaned when it was time to go to a new renter, and that task had been assigned to lesser demons. 

She was still just standing there. Was he supposed to be doing something? Had she given a command that he’d missed because he’d been thinking too much again? Was she was waiting for him to obey? What had she commanded him to do? His stomach clenched with fear and shame. He just couldn’t do anything right, could he? He’d been getting things wrong since he’d arrived here… disobeying commands, moving without permission, being unrestrained… you’d think he had no training at all!

It was his senses being returned to him… that’s what had done it. He couldn’t concentrate because there was too much information now, more than he’d had to deal with in years. He’d spent so long being unable to hear or smell, and only able to see when he wasn’t hooded and allowed to open his eyes, that all the stimuli were interfering with and overriding his training. 

He wished that she’d put the hood and restraints back on. Then he could focus and behave as a proper service unit.

XXXX

She knelt beside him and reached up to take one of his hands in hers. She tugged gently until he’d moved his arm down off his back then she slipped her other hand under his shoulder and exerted light pressure until he lifted his torso and resumed the sit-kneel. His brow was furrowed and his expression was confused as his face came into view, and Buffy waited for a few seconds then squeezed his hand and said, “Look at me, Spike.” He looked over at her, moving just his eyes, and she asked quietly, “You understand me, don’t you? Nod your head if you do.” He looked at her for a long minute then tentatively nodded. “Good. Do you know who I am?” Another tentative nod. “Okay, then. I know I did the whole ownership thing, but I’m not going to treat you like a slave and I’m not going to command you with that stick. I know you’re going to have some trouble with that at first, but we’ll work through it, okay? Can you stand up now?”

His brow furrowed just a little more and he started trembling. Buffy stood up, still holding his hand in hers, then tugged on it and made a lifting motion with her other hand. “Can you stand up?”

He hesitantly rose to his feet, looking at her intently to make sure that’s what she’d wanted him to do. She beamed a smile at him as she reached around behind him and grasped his other hand, pulling it around to his front. “Good, Spike! Good!” She squeezed his hands. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for today. You need blood and rest and I’m completely wiped and my brain is fried from all of this, so how about we call it a day and start fresh tomorrow, okay?”

She let go of one hand then turned and took a step, gently tugging on his other hand as she did. His first steps after her were uncertain, but got surer as she towed him toward her bedroom. She stopped at the threshold and turned to face him, taking his other hand in hers again. “You can come in here, Spike. I’m not a renter, so you’re allowed to be in here, okay? You live here now. This is your home. Do you understand?”

He nodded tentatively again and she took a step back, tugging him forward by his hands. She continued walking backwards until they were both fully in the room. She stopped and let go of one hand, motioning around the room as she said, “This is our bedroom. You can be in here anytime you want. Understand?”

He nodded again, not quite as tentatively, and Buffy smiled as she started pulling him toward the bathroom, talking all the while. “Good. Let’s get you in the shower and then I’ll get you some blood. I know you’re not dirty, but I remember how much you like hot showers and I’m guessing that you haven’t gotten to enjoy one for a while and it’ll help you sleep.”

XXXX

She was moving toward him and he had to work to keep himself from flinching when she knelt down next to him and reached up to take his right hand. She tugged on it and he lowered it, not quite sure what she was wanting him to do. Her other hand, small and warm, touched his shoulder, but it wasn’t giving a proper command. It **was** exerting upward pressure, though, so maybe he was supposed to sit up.

He slowly raised his torso and sat back on his feet, hoping that’s what she’d wanted him to do. He didn’t know how she was going to claim his ass if he was sitting on it, but as his owner, it was her decision as to when, where, and how that happened. Maybe she considered what she’d already done to be her claiming and wasn’t going to penetrate him because she had no plans to use him that way, which was more than fine with him. No matter what happened to him from here on in, he would die happy if he never had anything else shoved up his ass. 

But it was also possible that she was going to wait until he was healed and claim him then. His trainer had waited for him to heal quite a few times before reclaiming him so he could drive into a virgin-tight hole instead of a torn and gaping one. Although his trainer had never claimed him in stages. He shrugged inwardly. It wasn’t like he had any choice in the matter, so there was no point in worrying about it. It would be better to focus on what was happening now instead of what might happen in the future.

He kept his eyes averted, making sure to look at his knees, until she lightly squeezed his hand and told him to look at her. He did and she spoke, asking if he understood her and telling him to nod if he did. Of course he understood her. He wasn’t stupid. She’d even said as much, but it was apparent that his poor behavior had started to convince her otherwise. 

It was also apparent that she expected him to respond to verbal commands, something he’d not been trained to do, but he’d learned to do much stranger things when a renter required it, so he could learn to do this as well. He moved his head in something that could barely be construed as a nod, but it must have been enough because she smiled. 

She asked if he knew who she was. That one was easy. His owner. He nodded again.

Then she said that she wasn’t going to treat him like a slave and he felt like he’d been punched in the balls. How was he going to please her if she didn’t tell him what she wanted him to do? He needed to be commanded. He couldn’t even move until he was told to do so and she was going to get angry when he just sat there like a piece of furniture. It wouldn’t take long before she’d get tired of his disobedience and get rid of him, he was sure of it, and he wanted to stay here. With her. He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything. 

So he’d have to learn how to serve her and learn fast, even if she didn’t use the commands he was used to. He’d picked up his training quickly once he’d been broken and had stopped fighting it, so learning what she wanted from him shouldn’t be too difficult, considering he had a much more pleasant incentive this time – namely **not** spending the rest of his existence being tortured and violently raped by sadistic demons.

She stood up and tugged on the hand she was holding as she asked if he could stand. He didn’t know if she wanted him to answer the question or actually stand up, but he gathered all the courage he could find inside him then took a chance and rose to his feet. He checked her expression to see if he’d chosen correctly and warmth bloomed in his chest when she smiled and praised him. He’d done something right! Finally! He would have to pay strict attention to whatever she said so he’d be able to discern what it was she wanted. 

He listened intently to what she said next, but it didn’t seem that she expected a response of any kind out of him so he didn’t move until she turned and started tugging on his hand again. She hadn’t told him to do anything, but it seemed that she wanted him to follow her. He took a hesitant step then another, and when she didn’t stop or tell him that he was doing something wrong, he walked behind her with a little more confidence.

He stopped when she did and waited for her next _command_. She told him that he was allowed to be in her sleeping area then asked if he understood. He nodded even as he tried not to be nervous about that, reminding himself that she was his owner and not a renter, so he couldn’t be punished for being in this room if she told him he could be.

She led him into the middle of the room then waved her hand around and told him again that he was allowed to be in it. He was starting to get a little irritated at being treated like he was an idiot, but he supposed he couldn’t blame her for thinking so. It wasn’t as if he’d done much to prove that he wasn’t.

Then she started pulling him toward another room, talking about a shower and blood. His stomach cramped in hunger at the mention of the blood even as he shuddered in fear at the mention of the shower.


	13. Shower

Service Unit  
Chapter Thirteen – Shower

They stepped into the bathroom and Buffy let go of his hand long enough to move to the large shower stall and turn on the water. She set the temperature just slightly hotter than she liked it and turned to Spike. “Spike, come here, please.”

He took a hesitant step forward then looked to her for confirmation. She nodded and made a ‘come here’ motion with her hand. He took the six more steps needed to bring him across the room then stopped in front of her. She lifted one of his hands and slipped his fingers into the stream of water. “Is that too hot? Not hot enough?” He didn’t respond except to push his hand a little further into the stream. “I’m gonna take that as okay then.” She laid her hand lightly on his low back and nudged him forward. “Go ahead and get in.” He stepped into the stall and looked up at the wall opposite the shower head, his brow furrowing. He stepped to that wall and raised his hands above his head, laying them flat on the wall as he spread his feet wide and bowed his back, pushing his buttocks out to expose his hole. Then he just stood there.

Buffy stared at him for a few confused seconds before comprehension dawned. He was waiting to be cleaned like he was a freaking microwave or something. She swallowed down another surge of anger and stepped into the stall, avoiding the streams of water as she moved to stand beside him. He flinched slightly and the muscles in his back and arms tensed as he braced for the pain he was apparently used to experiencing during this procedure. Buffy closed her eyes and took a deep breath then opened her eyes and laid a hand lightly on his low back. “I’m not going to hurt you, Spike. I promise. Let’s get you under the water.”

She reached up and lifted one of his hands off the wall then tugged and nudged until he’d turned around. She nudged him toward the water and he stepped under it and let it cascade over him. He hissed quietly at first when the hot water touched his many wounds, then he sighed in obvious pleasure at the heat of the water pouring down over him. She tugged and nudged again until he’d turned around to face her then she pointed at his head. “I’m going to wash your hair and then I’ll do a quick wash of everything else.”

He watched her as she picked up the shampoo bottle and poured a small dollop out into her palm, then he tensed again as she applied the shampoo to his fuzzy head. She started massaging his scalp with her fingertips and noticed his eyelids drooping even as he fought to keep them up, so she said, “You can open and close your eyes anytime you want to, Spike.” He let them fall shut in contentment as she continued, and the muscles he’d been holding tense started to relax. She smiled and spoke quietly, “I only have strawberry scented shampoo, sorry, but I’ll get you some manly shampoo in a few days so you won’t have to smell like a girl. And when your hair grows out some more, we can bleach it if you want. Or we can leave it alone, I guess, it’s up to you, although you look really different without your Billy Idol hair. Not bad different, just different. I’ll have to get you some gel or something, too. I know you don’t like your curls all that much, even though they make you look really cute and sexy. Well… **more** cute and sexy.” 

She took a lot longer than was needed to wash the little bit of hair he had, but he was enjoying it so much that she didn’t want to stop. She wondered if **anybody** in the last twenty three years had shown him any kind of affection or tenderness, but with the way he was soaking up every gentle touch like a sponge soaking up water, she had to guess that nobody probably had. And, she realized with a start, she was enjoying caring for him. She’d dusted off her nurturing side and was letting it run the show for a while. No, she didn’t like the reason he needed the care – and if… no, **when** … he got back to his normal self, he’d probably get all offended and wouldn’t want to be coddled this way, but it made her feel all warm and fuzzy to be taking care of the man she loved.

She carefully rinsed the suds off his head, making sure to keep them out of his eyes, then she soaped a washcloth and started to clean him with gentle, barely there swipes of the cloth so she wouldn’t aggravate his injuries. When she reached his genitals, she carefully wrapped the cloth around his penis and started to wash off the lube she’d used, blinking in surprise when he got hard from only a couple of strokes of the soapy cloth. She let him go and his cock bobbed a little as it stood out proudly from his body. 

_Okay… that wasn’t exactly sexy touching, and it had to have hurt, considering his penis still looks like raw hamburger, so why’d he get hard? Even back when we were going at it like bunnies it would have taken a bit more than that to get Spike Junior interested again after having an orgasm less than twenty minutes ago._ She glanced up at his face, but he wasn’t showing any of his usual signs of arousal. She looked back down. _Well, you know, aside from the obvious. So is he actually turned on? Or is it…_ She frowned. _It’s a trained response… I’d bet my Slayer Scythe on it. He gets hard from any kind of touch and I doubt he has any control over it at all._ She clenched her hand tightly around the washcloth and a stream of suds poured out from between her fingers and splashed onto her shoes. _Well, I’m not going to just leave him like that._

She put down the washcloth and picked up her body wash, squirting a sizeable dollop into her palm and then rubbing her hands together until they were both slick with soap suds. She started to reach for him then stopped, her fingertips only millimeters from the hard column of his flesh. _Buffy, you idiot! Yeah, just grab hold and start yanking, why don’t you? Don’t even ask the guy who’s had absolutely no say over what happens to his body if he even **wants** you to! He probably doesn’t! He probably just wants to be left alone! _

She took a deep breath then looked up at him and asked quietly, “Spike? Can you open your eyes for me, please?”

He did, blinking the shower water out of them, and she motioned toward his penis. “Uh… I know you probably don’t have any control over… uh… this, but if you want me to, I’ll… um…” She took another deep breath and felt her face heat as she stammered, “I’ll… I’ll make you come, if you want.”

He just looked at her, still blinking water out of his eyes, and her face heated even more. “Do you want me to keep touching you… there?” She pointed at his penis. “Or does it hurt too much?”

He nodded tentatively and she nearly smacked herself in the forehead when she realized that she didn’t know which question he was answering. “Okay… one question at a time. Right. Do you want me to… make you come?” 

He looked at her for a long minute then nodded. _Okay, so he does… or he’s only saying yes because he doesn’t think he can say no._ She gently wrapped one soap slick hand around him and stroked twice then asked quietly, “Does it hurt when I do that? Please tell me the truth.” He took even longer to answer this time, but he finally nodded and she immediately let go. “Okay, then I won’t. Your body, your decision. I don’t want to do anything that will hurt you, so I’ll just rinse you off and we’ll be done.”

Once he was rinsed clean, she reached around him to turn off the water then stepped out of the stall and turned to face him. He followed her without any prompting, and she was just about to praise him for acting without command when he dropped to his knees outside the stall and pressed his forehead to the laces of her right sneaker, once again placing his hands at the small of his back. 

Buffy nearly growled. Without the trainer there to tell her why Spike was acting this way, she wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen, but whatever it was, it probably wasn’t fun. Then she remembered the plug and shuddered. He was probably waiting for it to be reinserted so he’d be ready for use. She was SO going to kick Angel right in the nuts. With each foot. More than once. And she’d be wearing boots.

She carefully wiggled her foot out from under Spike’s head then moved to the towel rack and picked the fluffiest, softest towel she owned, unfurling it and draping it over his back. She clutched his shoulders through the cloth and tugged until he sat up, gasping loudly as his face came into view and she saw the tears streaking down his cheeks. “Spike? What’s wrong? Oh God, I hurt you, didn’t I?”

He looked up at her, blinking as he tried to control the tears, and a small, silent sob broke from his throat. She dropped to her knees beside him and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close and using a hand on the back of his head to guide his face to rest against her neck. She murmured quietly as she stroked her fingers gently through the damp fuzz at his nape, “I’m sorry, Spike, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. I want to help you, but I have no clue what I’m doing, and I think I’m making it worse. God, I’m sorry.” Her own eyes welled up and tears spilled down her cheeks, dripping off her chin to land on the towel draped around Spike. 

Spike still had his wrists pressed together at the small of his back as he sobbed against her, and they sat crying together for a long time, Buffy murmuring quiet apologies as she pressed gentle kisses to his ear and neck. 

When she gently nudged him back to sit on his feet, his eyes were red-rimmed and a few errant tears were still threatening to spill, but he was calm. He dropped his gaze to his knees and Buffy reached out and used her index finger under his chin to gently lift his face. When his eyes met hers, she gave him a watery smile. “It’s okay, Spike. Really. We’ll figure this out. It might be rough at first, and I’m probably going to make a lot of mistakes, but we’ll get through it. We’re both stubborn and we’re not going to let this beat us, are we?”

Spike’s expression became fearful and Buffy thought over what she’d just said then she moved her hand and cupped his cheek. “Sorry. That wasn’t a question you needed to answer, because I already know we won’t let this beat us. We won’t, Spike. I promise. Now, let’s get you dried off. You’ve got to be freezing.”

She stood and tugged him gently to his feet then started patting him dry, using one corner of the towel to dry her tears. She used a different corner to squeeze as much water as she could out of the soaked silk collar, wishing she could just take it off, but if she did, Spike would probably freak out again. She’d have to see about getting something that could stand up to being worn 24/7 and not get ruined in the shower, because Spike was a long way from being ready to own himself.

When he was as dry as he was going to get without rubbing the cloth over his damaged skin, Buffy hung the towel over the shower door and turned back to Spike. She’d moved his hands from his low back to hang at his sides and he hadn’t moved them from that position since she’d placed them there.

He was watching her intently and she took a couple of steps toward the door then held her hand out to him. He looked down at her hand then back to her face. She nodded toward his left hand and said, “Give me your hand, Spike.” He lifted his left hand and laid it lightly in hers. She wrapped her fingers around it and squeezed. “Good, Spike. That’s good.”

She led him out of the bathroom and over to the bed then nodded back toward the door to the master bath. “Okay. I’m going to go do my human stuff in the bathroom and then I’ll get you some blood. I’ll be right back.” She nodded at the bed. “You can sit down if you want.”

She squeezed his hand then let go and made for the bathroom, intending to be as quick as she could so Spike wouldn’t be alone for very long. She stripped out of her wet clothes, tucking the box of pebbles into the back of her makeup drawer, then hurried through drying herself off, putting on her pajamas, using the toilet, and brushing her teeth. She went back out to the bedroom to find Spike standing in the exact same position she’d left him in, with his hand slightly outstretched as it had been when she’d let go of it. 

She suppressed a tired sigh then stepped up next to him and tugged and nudged until she had him reclined on the bed, resting against a pile of pillows in front of the headboard. She pulled the sheet and comforter over him up to his waist and he looked down at the covers as she laid his hands on his thighs. His fingers twitched against the fabric ever so slightly and Buffy smiled as she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right back with your blood.”


	14. Cleaning

Service Unit  
Chapter Fourteen – Cleaning

She let him go and he stopped walking, making sure to hold position while she turned on the water in the shower. Steam started gathering at the ceiling and he suppressed a shudder. He’d been cleaned with nearly all temperatures of water, but when the creatures had used hot water, they’d made sure it was near boiling and then they’d scrubbed his scalded skin until it bled.

She turned to face him and said, “Spike, come here, please.”

This was his first verbal command that wasn’t accompanied by some kind of touch. He dug for courage again and took a small step then checked to see if he’d done right. She nodded and beckoned with one hand. He kept going until he’d reached her then stopped, fighting back a flinch as she took his right hand and extended it toward the steaming water. Then she asked if the temperature was all right like he was actually worthy of having an opinion about it. It was a little too warm and would hurt when it hit his damaged skin, but there was no way he was going to disagree with her or tell her she was wrong, so he slightly pushed his hand further into the stream to show that it was fine.

She told him to get in, accompanying the verbal command with a light touch on his back, and he stepped into the stall, looking for the manacles that would hold him in place while he was cleaned. There weren’t any, so she expected him to hold himself still without the aid of restraints. 

He’d been left unrestrained during his first cleaning, but when one of the creatures had shoved their hand inside him along with an enema hose, he’d twisted and side-stepped, trying to get away from the pain, and had ended up breaking its arm. His trainer had instructed the creatures to chain him spread-eagled in the middle of the room then he’d had them beat and sodomize him with the heavy, stiff-bristled brushes used for cleaning. They’d beaten him severely enough that he’d ended up with several broken bones – quite a few of his ribs, both legs, and one arm – and both shoulders had been dislocated. Then they’d cleaned him, spraying his mangled body with caustic chemicals and scrubbing at it with the stiff brushes before rinsing it off with a punishing jet of scalding hot water. His first ‘cleaning’ had left him damaged enough that he’d needed over a week to heal before his training could continue. He’d always been restrained after that, and even though he couldn’t move or resist, he’d still been beaten and sodomized, although not quite as badly as that first time.

He stepped to the wall and assumed the position for cleaning, pretending that there were manacles tight around his wrists and ankles, and then he waited. For what he wasn’t sure. He didn’t think she’d clean him in the manner he was accustomed to, being that she didn’t have manacles mounted in her shower and he hadn’t seen any of the usual cleaning implements like scrub brushes or enema kits, but he didn’t know what else to do. He desperately wanted to please her, but she wasn’t giving him specific commands, so all he could do was what he normally did and hope that was good enough.

She stepped into the stall beside him and he flinched involuntarily then tensed in anticipation, hoping that she wasn’t upset with him. He heard her breathe in deeply and his stomach clenched again. She was. He braced himself for whatever she was about to do and almost flinched again when she touched his back. He let his stomach unclench a little when she said she wasn’t going to hurt him, but only a little. Of course it would hurt. Being cleaned always did. If it wasn’t the water scalding him then it was harsh chemicals burning his skin or the brushes nearly scraping it off. And even if the shower water was at a tolerable temperature, the chemical laden enema solution that made his guts spasm in agony was always near the boiling point. Always.

She took his right hand down from the wall then maneuvered him under the water with light touches and gentle pushes. The water hurt quite a bit as it sluiced down his damaged back and across his mangled cock and balls and he hissed at the sudden pain. He held his breath until he’d gotten used to the temperature, then let it out in a quiet sigh. The water actually felt good now, the heat seeping into him and making him feel warm for the first time since he’d been unpacked from his crate.

She turned him around and said she was going to wash him and he watched as she picked up a bottle and poured some of its contents into her hand. He tensed slightly, expecting the burn of cleaning chemicals as she applied it to his scalp and started rubbing it through his hair, but instead of burning or stinging, her massaging fingers felt… good. His eyelids started to close and he worked to keep them open then let them fall shut when she gave him permission to do so. Then he stood there, his muscles starting to relax as she kept up the gentle motions of her fingers, scratching lightly with her nails and pressing with her fingertips as she spoke quietly about his hair. He didn’t hear most of what she said, the pleasurable sensations she was causing overriding nearly everything else, but the cadence of her voice was soothing and familiar, and something inside him started to break loose.

He was good at showing fear and pain… those emotions were expected in a service unit… but once he’d been broken, he’d built a wall around his other emotions, not daring to show anger, sadness, happiness, or gratitude – not that he’d had any cause to show the last two during his captivity – but now that wall was starting to crumble. She could’ve stopped washing his hair after a handful of seconds… it wasn’t like he had much, considering he’d been thoroughly waxed right before going to his last renter… but she was still massaging his scalp, treating him as if he were something to be cherished and not just a toy to be cleaned and stored.

And when she started to rinse the soap off his head, covering his eyes with a wash cloth to keep the suds from stinging them even though they were closed, the wall crumbled completely. Nobody had shown him an ounce of consideration during his captivity. Nobody had done anything to **prevent** him from feeling pain, even something so slight as the sting of soap, and he started to do something he hadn’t allowed himself to do since he’d been broken. He cried.

Oh, he’d shed tears since he’d built that wall, but they’d only been a visceral reaction to the agony his body was going through, not because of any emotions he’d felt, but now tears spilled from his eyes to mix with the shower water as an overwhelming feeling of gratitude toward his owner washed through him. He would do anything for her. Anything at all. She’d been so kind to him, and even though some of what she’d done to him had been painful, he **knew** that she hadn’t meant it to be. She cared about him – cared if he hurt, cared if he felt pleasure… cared if his eyes got stung by soap suds. He mattered to her. 

The tears continued as she gently washed him, being careful not to disturb the many wounds littering his body, and when his cock filled and rose from the contact with the soapy washcloth, she asked him… **ASKED** him if he wanted her to bring him to orgasm. He did, because he’d thoroughly enjoyed the last one, but then again he didn’t, because his cock hurt… a lot. It was scratched and abraded and bruised, and there was a constant throbbing pain radiating from his balls that would only get worse when they emptied themselves of his seed. But it was her decision, not his. She was the owner and he the service unit, and if she wanted to use him, then it was her right. It didn’t matter that what she wanted to do would cause him pain, so when she asked him what he wanted, he answered the only way he could… in the affirmative.

Then she wrapped her hand around him and stroked, and it hurt, the soap she’d coated her hand in stinging the dozens of scratches and abrasions up and down his shaft. The lube she’d used earlier hadn’t stung, and that, coupled with his complete unfamiliarity with the situation, had made the pain caused by her touch seem less important, but now… it was important. It was all he could do to not pull away from her, to make himself stand and accept the pain as he should, and he nearly missed the question she asked. She wanted to know if it had hurt when she’d stroked him.

It had, but could he tell her that? He wasn’t used to anyone asking how he felt, if what they were doing to him was painful. It was supposed to be, that was the entire point. But she wanted an answer out of him and she wanted the truth. Part of him wanted to tell her no, because even though he wasn’t sure how stroking him to completion would bring her any pleasure, it was her right to do so. She could also get him **almost** there and then put a ring on him so he’d be ready for later use. And even though she cared about him, he was still her toy to use as she chose. He searched her face and decided that using him wasn’t what she wanted. At all. She was genuinely concerned about how he felt. He tapped that well of courage that seemed to be filling up the more he accessed it and nodded.

And she let go. Immediately. She didn’t squeeze or stroke or even brush her soapy fingers down his shaft. He was completely thunderstruck; his mind a flurry of awe and gratitude and surprise at her actions. She’d stopped doing something to him because it hurt. Nobody had done **that** before. Nobody had put his needs or feelings above their own. Usually any sign of pain from him had only resulted in more pain being inflicted.

The tears that had only been leaking from his eyes suddenly flowed from them in a torrent, pouring down his face as she reached around him to turn off the water. He wished he could somehow show her how thankful he was that he belonged to her now. How much he appreciated all she’d done for him… and hadn’t done **to** him. 

It never occurred to him to try to speak to her; to actually say the words. It hadn’t hurt when his hearing and ability to scent had been taken. It had been uncomfortable to have small stones stuffed up his nose and into his ears, sure, but when they’d taken his voice; his trainer had slashed his throat with his claws, leaving a gaping wound. Then he’d used a claw to slice and dig open a hole in his larynx large enough to cram a large black stone into it. And now, because his throat didn’t hurt from the incisions that would’ve had to be made to remove the stone, he assumed that his voice hadn’t been returned to him. Maybe it couldn’t be. The stone might well be part of him now; it had been there so long.

She stepped out of the stall without giving him any kind of command, but he didn’t really need one for this part of the cleaning process. He was used to following the creatures from the cleaning area to another room where they would then command him into whatever position was needed to prepare him for his next renter. 

So he stepped out of the stall after her and then, without waiting for the command, did the only thing he could think of to show his thanks. He assumed the position he was ordered into each time his trainer was done reclaiming him… after he’d stopped writhing on the floor in agony from the reclaiming, of course. Every unit was ordered to do so to show their gratitude to their trainers for their continued care. 

He knelt and bent at the waist, pressing his forehead to his owner’s foot, hoping that the gesture would convey how he felt to her. He was grateful, yes, but grateful wasn’t a big enough word to encompass what her kind treatment meant to him. If he hadn’t already been her slave, he’d have willingly given himself to her, and he vowed to do everything in his limited power to make her happy.

She stood quietly as he kept his forehead pressed to her foot, his tears dampening her already wet shoe, then she wiggled it out from under him and a moment later a heavy cloth was draped over his back and her small hands were tugging at his shoulders. He sat back, flinching slightly at her gasp, then tried to blink the tears out of his eyes. She thought she’d hurt him, but that was the farthest thing from the truth and he didn’t know how to tell her that. His gesture of thanks had been misunderstood and a sob forced its way out of his throat. She knelt beside him then took him into her arms, holding him close as he berated himself for his inadequacy. 

She’d treated him better than anyone ever had and now she was apologizing to him for it. **He** should be the one apologizing, not her. And now she was crying. He’d made her cry. 

That thought fueled his tears even as he tried to hold position. He’d made the only person to ever show him any kindness cry. He had to do better. Had to turn off these useless emotions that were only causing problems. But the tears wouldn’t stop. Once the wall had crumbled, all the emotions he’d been holding back had spewed forth, and no matter how hard he tried not to, he continued to sob against his owner’s neck. 

He didn’t know how long it took, but he finally managed to get himself under control. He started to build a hasty barrier around his emotions, determined to shore it up as much as he was able, because he would not make his owner cry again. By the time she commanded him to sit up, he had it mostly constructed. It was weak in spots and he would have to be careful not to put pressure in those areas, but he thought it would hold. He glanced quickly at her face, inwardly cringing with guilt at the tears he could see on it, then dropped his eyes to his knees.

And she surprised him again by gently lifting his face and smiling at him. Then she said that **she** would make mistakes and he almost shook his head. Owners didn’t make mistakes. Slaves did. And then they were punished for them. Even if what the owner ordered was irrational or physically impossible to do, the slave was held responsible if the order wasn’t followed. 

She’d stopped talking and was looking at him expectantly, like she’d asked him a question. His stomach clenched and his eyes widened in fear. He hadn’t been paying attention and he’d missed it. What had she asked? He **had** to stop thinking so much and just listen to her! But instead of being angry that he hadn’t answered, she gently cupped his cheek and apologized to him. Again. And his hastily constructed barrier came tumbling down. 

He struggled to contain the tears as she tugged him to his feet and started drying him off. By the time she hung up the towel, he had himself under control once more and was standing quietly as he waited for her next command. She told him to give her his hand then praised him when he did. He had to blink quickly to stave off another round of grateful tears as she led him away from what had been his most enjoyable cleaning ever.

She led him into her sleeping area and stopped him next to the bed then said she was going back into the bathroom and would get him some blood. His stomach gurgled in anticipation. Then she said he could sit down if he wanted. She squeezed his hand then turned and walked away and he held position as he cut his eyes to the bed. Did he want to sit down? He honestly didn’t know. He was a slave and slaves knelt where they were told, they didn’t sit on their owner’s furniture like actual people. He hadn’t sat on anything just to sit on it during his entire captivity. Anytime he’d been on a piece of furniture, it was because it was supporting his weight or he was manacled to it while a renter used him or beat him.

She hadn’t actually **told** him to sit, so would she be upset when she came back and he hadn’t? Maybe he should. He stared at the bed, trying to convince himself that he could turn and sit on it, but he couldn’t. His training wouldn’t allow him to move without being specifically commanded to. He’d been punished for that infraction too many times to count and he’d learned the lesson – don’t move unless ordered to or your owner or renter moves you.

She reappeared suddenly, startling him slightly, although he managed to suppress the flinch as she stepped up next to him. She took his arm and gently turned him then pressed down on his shoulders until he sat on the bed. She turned him again and laid her hand lightly on his thigh, nudging it toward the bed. He lifted his legs onto the bed and she nudged him toward the headboard, making adjustments until he was leaning against several pillows.

She pulled the blanket over him then laid his hands on top of it, resting them on his thighs. His fingers twitched against the soft fabric as she gently kissed his forehead then left to get him some blood. He watched her go, his mind awash with awe again. She’d put him in her bed and had covered him with her blanket like he belonged there. He’d fully expected her to have him kneel in a corner while she slept. He’d never… his eyes welled up again and he blinked several times until he’d battled the tears back.

He would do anything for her. Anything at all.


	15. Betrayal

Service Unit  
Chapter Fifteen – Betrayal

Buffy could feel his eyes on her as she left the room. She stopped by her guest bedroom long enough to tell the demon inside it that he could unplug his ears and get some sleep and that he wasn’t to leave the room until she came to get him. He nodded acquiescence and lay down somewhat stiffly on the twin bed.

She continued to the kitchen and pulled her two largest mugs from the cupboard then filled them half full with the donated human blood she’d secured from a local demon bar featuring Rome’s version of Willy the Snitch. She popped them into the microwave to warm then pulled them out and set them on the counter before pulling a sharp knife out of the block and a roll of gauze out of the first aid kit. She pulled up the sleeve of her pajama top and sliced a line across her left forearm then held her arm over each mug in turn, letting her blood drip into them until they were filled to the brim. She wiped the blood off her arm then wrapped a strip of gauze around it and pulled her sleeve back down. A quick stir with a spoon to mix in her blood and Spike’s dinner was ready.

She stood staring at the mugs for a few minutes, wondering what had possessed her to add her blood to them. She’d never even considered giving Spike her blood before, not that her Slayer side would have let her, considering that Angel had nearly drained her when she’d given it to him. And Spike had never asked her to, never even hinted at it, even though it could have healed him a lot faster when he’d been tortured by Glory and The First, when his chip had started to malfunction, when Robin had nearly killed him… and every time she’d left him battered and bruised after one of their… well, she couldn’t really call them ‘lovemaking’ sessions, so, to use a Spikeism… ‘shagging’ sessions. She blinked slowly at the mugs filled with Slayery goodness. Why did the idea of giving Spike her blood suddenly seem like the most logical thing in the world? So much so that she’d opened a vein pretty much on autopilot… like she’d been doing this kind of thing every day for months.

She suddenly grinned and nodded to herself because she’d figured it out. Her Slayer side had stepped back so she could be all ‘nurturing Buffy’ for the moment, but it was apparently fully invested in project, ‘Get Spike’s demon back’ and had decided that Slayer blood was just the ticket. She picked up the mugs and headed for the bedroom. “Bon appétit, vampire-boy. Here’s hoping this works.”

Buffy stepped up next to the bed and set a mug down on the nightstand next to the small one from earlier that had gone cold and gummy. She pushed that mug back a little then sat down next to Spike’s knee, holding the second mug out to him. “Here you go. I hope I got it warm enough.”

Spike looked hopefully at the mug and the very tip of his tongue slipped out to lick at his lip before disappearing, but he made no move to take it from her. She reached out and took his left hand, bringing it up to wrap around the mug, then she guided it to his mouth and helped him tip it. “I know you haven’t fed yourself in a really long time, but I’m sure it’s like riding a bike, and you’ll get the hang of it again.”

She let go of his hand, keeping hers nearby just in case he had difficulty, but once the blood touched his tongue, he tipped the mug up and gulped it down like a man starved… which he very well might be, considering that she didn’t know what kind of crap he’d been existing on the last twenty three years. Who knew what was actually in that ‘specialized sustaining fluid’ that was sitting in her living room. And that reminded her… she needed to feed some crap to the incinerator, and she wanted to do that before Spike went out to the living room in the morning. She wanted to remove all the reminders of his slavery, so it was a case of ‘everything must go.’ The demon trainer she really couldn’t do anything about at the moment; she needed to keep him around in case she needed his help, but she could make sure he stayed out of sight most of the time.

Buffy took the empty mug and replaced it with the full one then stood up. “I’ve got to do something before we go to sleep that hopefully shouldn’t take very long. Do you want me to bring you more blood when I come back?”

Spike had already gulped down the second mug and she took it from him, holding the two empty mugs in one hand while she picked up the mug full of cold blood from the nightstand. He lowered his hand to rest on his thigh again with his eyes locked on the mugs in her hands. He looked from one hand to the other then raised his eyes to her face and gave a small nod. Buffy smiled. “All right. Just hang on for a little while and you’ll have some more. I have lots in the fridge, so you can eat as much as you want. Oh, you’re going to hear some loud noises and probably some yelling and cursing, but I don’t want you to worry about it, okay? I’m just going to clean some stuff up.” His brow furrowed for a few seconds then he nodded again, somewhat tentatively. 

His eyes followed her as she left the room again and she hurried to the kitchen. She poured out the cold blood then rinsed all three mugs and put them in the dishwasher. She stood leaning against the counter for a few minutes feeling quite a bit of disappointment that drinking her blood hadn’t prodded Spike’s demon out of hiding. Slayer blood was supposed to be the Holy Grail for vampires. It healed them quicker, made them stronger, and was rumored to be a very strong aphrodisiac, but Spike hadn’t shown any signs at all that there was a demon residing inside him. Even a flash of amber in his eyes would have been something, but her blood hadn’t had any more effect on his demon than a cup of chicken broth. She heaved a sigh then stepped across the room and dug through her junk drawer until she’d located her claw hammer. She gripped it tightly and stalked out to the living room.

Dismantling the crate allowed her to vent a small portion of the rage she was feeling, but she made sure to save most of it back for when Angel showed up… and she knew he would. That’s what the phone call had been about, after all. Get him pissed off enough to haul his ass overseas to find out why the hell his plan had failed. And when he showed up, she was going to put her own plan into action. Yeah, she could’ve just asked him to come over and he probably would have, but after what he’d done to Spike, she was done **asking** him anything. She was going to **tell** him, and if he didn’t do what he was told, well… even if he did… Yeah, the Powers That Be were about to find themselves in the market for a new Champion. Angel was fresh out of second chances. He’d screwed with her life one too many times and now he was going to pay the freaking piper… with interest.

XXXX

He could smell the blood before she’d even stepped into the room and his mouth started watering. She was carrying two mugs of the rich red liquid and she set one down on the table then sat down and held the other out to him. He could nearly taste it and his tongue started to slip out, but he arrested the motion and pulled it back in. She reached for his hand and lifted it to the mug, wrapping his fingers around its warmth, then she guided it toward his mouth and tipped a little of the blood into it.

The taste exploded on his tongue and he didn’t even notice when she let go of his hand. He tipped the mug all the way up; the blood pouring into his mouth, then swallowed it down just as fast as he could. He’d never tasted anything so good. It tasted of power and life and love… and then the mug was empty. 

She took it from him and gave him the other one and he drank that one down even faster than he had the first. She took that one from him as well then picked up the one from earlier that he hadn’t been allowed to drink. It didn’t smell as good as the blood he’d just had, and he wondered what was different about it. He didn’t get the chance to ponder that question, though, because she’d asked him if he wanted more blood and was standing there waiting for him to answer. Would she really bring him more if he wanted it? He tore his eyes away from the mugs he’d been staring at and brought them up to hers, chancing a nod.

She smiled and told him she’d bring him more and his stomach gurgled, obviously happy with that news. Then she told him he’d hear loud noises and yelling, and that he wasn’t to worry about it. He didn’t really understand what loud noises and yelling had to do with him, being that she wasn’t taking him with her to wherever the loud noises and yelling was going to take place. It was her home, so she could yell and make as much noise as she wanted to, regardless if it upset him or not. His feelings on the matter were of no relevance, and his nod was almost an afterthought as he was once again awed that she cared enough about him to worry that he’d be worried.

He watched her leave then listened to her move around in the other rooms. He heard water running then several loud cracking and banging noises that made him jump. Intermingled with the cracking and banging were a few shouted curse words that were usually accompanied by the word ‘Angel.’ She was using it like a name and it was familiar to him somehow, and though he couldn’t figure out why, it made his chest tighten with an emotion he couldn’t readily identify. She shouted it again, accompanied by another curse word, and a picture appeared in his head of a dark figure looming over him. He also felt the ghost of pressure on one shoulder, like a hand had been laid there. A word to go with the picture suddenly burned through him and his hands clenched into fists. 

Betrayal.

XXXX

She smiled to herself as she fed the last of the crate into the chute. The sustaining fluid had been the first thing to go down, and the small explosion that had heralded it’s arrival in the incinerator made her worry about what that stuff had been doing to Spike all those years he’d been having it forced into him. She shook her head and squared her shoulders. What she had planned should fix whatever damage had been done to his body and hopefully repair the damage done to his demon… and his mind. It had worked for Drusilla when Spike had done it… well, her mind hadn’t been repaired, but then again, she’d been a complete nutbag before she’d been turned, but the ritual had restored her to full strength and hopefully it would do the same for Spike. And if it didn’t, then she would fall back to plan B – stuffing Spike full of Slayer blood while having the trainer help her to un-train him. Either way, she’d get Spike back.

She closed the cover on the incinerator chute and started back down the hall to her apartment, smiling again when she turned the corner and her door came into view. There was a large box sitting on her welcome mat. Her little sister had come through.

She picked up the box, grunting a little under its weight – Dawnie must have used some kind of cart to get it here – and went back into the apartment. The box was deposited on the couch next to the binder, which was picked up and carried into the kitchen. She stuffed it into the back of her junk cupboard, making sure that it couldn’t be seen when the door was open, then she went back out to the living room and locked up, shoving the chair back under the knob.

Dawn had left a note taped to the top of the box that Buffy read with a warm smile on her face. “Buffy, I got everything you asked for and I got in touch with the church closest to your apartment. You’ve got it the night of the full moon from ten pm until six am, but that happens in four days, so hopefully the asshat shows up before then, otherwise we’ll have to wait a month. I printed out the ritual from the database and I’ll get the stuff we need and practice saying it – my Latin is a lot better than yours, so yeah, I’ll be the one doing it – and no, I won’t tell Giles or anybody what you’re planning. Call me when you’re ready to go and tell Spike that I love him and I’ll see him soon. Love you, too, Buffy. See you in a few days… I hope. Dawn.”

Buffy opened the box and lifted out two pairs of sweat pants – black, of course – two 3-packs of black t-shirts, a package of black socks, a black leather belt, a pair of motorcycle boots, two pairs of black button-fly jeans, and another note. It said, “These should all fit unless he’s lost a lot of weight. They’re the same sizes he wore back when you were dead and I was doing his laundry for him, but if they don’t, just let me know and I’ll get something smaller.” 

Buffy smiled a little sadly as she put the note down and clutched the jeans to her chest. Spike had never really embraced modesty, preferring to be naked whenever he got the chance while they’d been involved in… well, not a relationship, exactly, but whatever it had been… and she was kind of worried about getting him to wear clothes again. He was obviously very comfortable being without a stitch and she didn’t know if putting clothes on him would wig him out or not. She sighed and set the jeans on top of the sweats. She’d burn that bridge in the morning.

A small box had fallen out of the pocket of the top pair of jeans and Buffy picked it up. It was the type of box jewelry came in and she lifted off the lid, smiling as she saw what the box contained. She set the lid down then reached into the box and picked up the necklace. It was a silver chain with thick links separated every third link by a black stone wrapped in silver wire. It wasn’t long, more of a choker than a necklace, and Buffy decided it would work perfectly as a ‘collar’ for Spike until he didn’t need one anymore. She carefully coiled it back into the box and replaced the lid then set the box on top of the pile of clothes. She’d handle that tomorrow, too.

She turned her attention back to the large box and smiled widely then lifted out two different lengths of heavy chain with magically reinforced clips on each end. She carried them into the hallway and coiled them separately onto the floor of her coat closet. She went back to the box and took out two sets of heavy steel manacles and a pink rubber ball gag with a glittery pink leather harness. Buffy looked over the ball gag, chuckling to herself as she walked back over to the closet. “I bet sweet little Dawnie got quite a few strange looks when she went to the sex shop to buy this thing. And pink? She must be just as pissed at Angel as I am.” She set the manacles and the gag on the floor next to the chains then closed the door with a satisfied smile. “You’re gonna fix him, Angel, even if you have to die in the process.”


	16. Memories

Service Unit  
Chapter Sixteen – Memories

He sat, fuming in frustrated anger as he clenched and unclenched his hands. This ‘Angel’ person had betrayed him, he was sure of it. But how? Who was he? And why did he evoke such feelings of rage? Something dark stirred inside him as snippets of memory flashed across his mind – fights, beatings, knives, fires, running screaming people – all starring the same looming figure that must be Angel. None of the images made much sense, but he assumed them to be some of the memories of his life from before he’d become a service unit – the memories he’d so carefully locked away.

He heard his owner unlocking the door she’d locked earlier and then it sounded like she was dragging something heavy across the floor. The door shut and the dragging noise tapered off until all he could hear was a faint ticking sound. He dared to close his eyes – she’d given him permission to close them anytime – and more memories flashed across his mind. Angel whipping him, Angel cutting into his back as he lay trussed up on the floor, Angel sneering at him, and one especially confusing image of Angel kissing him on the forehead. Apparently he’d known this person quite well for him to appear in so many memories.

His head started to droop – he had a mostly full belly and was warm and fairly comfortable and was starting to doze off as more memories flooded his mind, showing people he didn’t recognize – a red-headed girl, a dark-eyed boy, a wisp-thin woman with dark hair wearing a long dress, and an older man with glasses. His owner and the girl named Dawn were also there, along with an older woman that shared some of their features. Dawn must be his owner’s sister, and the woman their mother. What was her name? He could almost see it, but it danced away before he could make it out, although her image in his mind brought along with it feelings of warmth and… acceptance? And the taste of… chocolate.

His owner now figured prominently in his mind and he saw her in many different settings and situations. In some she was fighting, all grace and beauty as she whirled, kicked, and punched, and in others she was dancing with some of the other people he’d seen. More memories of her were surfacing now, trying to crash into him all at once. In one she was crying and he was sitting quietly beside her as she did. He frowned at that as more memories of her with a tear-stained face appeared in rapid succession. Most of them seemed to happen somewhere dark and damp where the walls were made of stone. A place that felt like… home.

He shook his head slightly, not noticing that his chin was nearly to his chest as the memories slowed a little and his subconscious was able to examine them more closely. In one especially vivid memory, his owner was sitting on his lap kissing him senseless. He replayed that memory a few times, enjoying the flush of warmth attached to it as his cock hardened under the blanket. That surprised him more than a little, even in his half-asleep state. Yes, he was fully functional in that area, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten hard without some kind of physical stimulation from an appendage or the vibrations of his plug, and now he was hard because he was aroused by the image of his owner, not because his trainer or a renter was forcing it on him. 

He flexed his hips slightly and the blanket rubbing against his erection felt good so he continued the motion as another memory suddenly slammed into him. His owner astride him, her hips churning against his as she moaned and gasped in pleasure. He could feel her slick walls clenching around his length as his hands cupped her small breasts, his fingers twisting and tugging at her erect nipples. She leaned down and took his mouth in a forceful kiss as her fingers twined with his and pushed his hands up over his head. Her hips rocked against him harder and then she tensed, her forehead pressed against his as she climaxed with a scream, her channel milking his pulsing erection in nearly strangling waves.

He jerked as his orgasm rolled through him and his poor abused balls pumped out the little bit of semen left in them. It didn’t amount to much more than a damp patch the size of a bagel, and with the endorphins flooding his brain he barely even noticed the increased throbbing ache as he slipped even further into sleep. 

His owner’s smile – the same smile he’d carried with him all through his captivity – was the last thing he saw before he dropped off the edge into oblivion. The last thought he had was, _Buffy. My owner’s name is Buffy,_ and then blackness consumed him.

XXXX

Spike was still sitting exactly how she’d left him, except for the fact that he’d fallen asleep and his chin was resting on his chest. Buffy shook her head sadly as she walked over to the side of the bed and set down the mug of blood she’d warmed, then she reached out and gently shook Spike’s shoulder. “Spike?”

He startled violently and jerked his head up, looking up at her with wide, terrified eyes. She was getting really sick of seeing that look on his face every time he did something he thought he’d be punished for, and another wave of anger at Angel crashed over her. The emotion must have showed on her face because Spike started trembling and his face blanched even paler than normal.

Buffy sighed and tried to maneuver her features into something a little less murderous. “You’re not in trouble for falling asleep, Spike. You’re exhausted, and until you’re better, you can sleep as much as you need to. I brought you some more blood. Are you still hungry?”

He cut his eyes toward the mug without moving his head and Buffy had to clamp her lips down on another sigh. “You can look around if you want. I’m not going to punish you for moving without my permission. In fact, I’m giving you permission right now to move your head, your hands, your legs, your toes… you can move whatever you want, whenever you want, without clearing it with me first.” She picked up the mug and held it out to him, waiting patiently while he screwed up the courage to lift his hand and take it from her without being ordered to. It took a few minutes, but he finally did, gulping down the blood like he was afraid it was going to be taken away. 

When he’d finished, he tentatively held out the mug and Buffy took it from him with a smile. “Will that hold you until tomorrow or do you need some more?” His brow furrowed and Buffy kept her smile in place as she said, “Sorry, my bad. One question at a time. Do you need some more?” He shook his head and Buffy nodded. “Okay then. I’m gonna go put this in the kitchen and then we’ll go to sleep. Go ahead and get comfortable while I’m gone.”

She stepped back into the bedroom, and as soon as she laid eyes on Spike she felt like banging her head against the wall for being so stupid. He’d tried to follow what he considered to be an order, but since she hadn’t been specific as to **how** he should get comfortable; he’d just scooted down a little and moved his hands to the bed beside his legs. The look on his face clearly told her that he was sure he’d gotten it wrong and that he was going to be punished for not doing what he’d been told. She smiled a sort of sad smile as she said, “Looks like I’m gonna have to channel my inner Anya with you, huh?”

She stepped up to the side of the bed opposite a trembling Spike and tossed the extra pillows onto the floor in the corner then walked over to the door and turned off the overhead light. That left the small lamp on the nightstand as the only illumination and she’d already decided to leave it on in case Spike woke up and needed to know where he was. Yeah, she knew that he could see as well in the dark as he could in the light, but since he’d been forced to wear that nasty hood for all that time, she hoped the light would reassure him… if he’d accepted her blanket permission to move and could force himself to open his eyes. She had a sinking feeling that he would just lay there with his eyes closed, scared and confused. 

She slid under the covers next to the still trembling vampire and tugged and nudged until she’d gotten him to slide down and lay his head on her chest and his arm across her stomach. She wrapped an arm over his back and used her other hand to gently rub across the fuzz on his head as she spoke quietly to him, “I’m not going to punish you, Spike. For anything. You can make mistakes with me, you can do things I don’t like, you can even tell me ‘no’ if you don’t want to do something, but nothing you do or don’t do is going to make me hurt you. I promise. I won’t hurt you ever again. And even if I look angry, please understand that I’m not angry at **you** , I’m angry at what’s been done to you, what you’ve been through, all the horrible things that have happened to you because of Angel – that enormous freaking dickhead with the stupid hair. Don’t worry, though, he’s gonna fix you whether he wants to or not… and I’m thinking he’s gonna go with not, but I have a plan.” She tightened her hold on him and whispered, “I love you, Spike, and we’re gonna get you back.”

She felt his tears soaking into her pajama top as she kept up the gentle stroking, occasionally brushing the fingertips of her other hand across the skin of his side. She smiled when the arm across her belly tightened a little just before Spike finally fell asleep again, signified by the cessation of his frightened trembling and his arm going lax. She held him for a long time after that and the pillow under her head was soaked in her own tears when exhaustion finally crept up and overtook her.

XXXX

He woke suddenly as someone shook his shoulder and a searing bolt of fear spiked through him. He’d gone to sleep without permission. He raised his head to see his owner staring down at him, her face melting into an angry expression. Now he’d done it. He’d finally pushed her too far and her patience had run out. He started trembling, unable to stop it. He didn’t want her to punish him. Not because of the pain – he could take pain – but because he didn’t want her to turn out to be like his trainer and renters. She was better than that.

And she proved it in the very next second. She smiled and told him he wasn’t in trouble… again. And then she asked if he was still hungry. He looked at the mug she was holding, careful to only move his eyes, and his jaw almost came unhinged in shock when she said he could move without her permission and that she wouldn’t punish him for doing so. 

She held the mug out to him, but gave no order for him to take it, either verbally or by lifting his hand. He looked at it, his mind whirling. He’d done so many things wrong since he’d been unpacked and she hadn’t punished him for any of it. She’d told him during his cleaning that he could open and close his eyes without command, and now she’d told him he could move whatever part of his body he wanted. Would she really not punish him if he moved? 

That well of courage deep inside him was still filling and he tapped it once more, raising his hand to the mug. He brought it close to his face and it smelled just as delicious as the previous two. He gulped it down, savoring the taste even though he was drinking it so fast, then held the mug out to her, his heart fluttering just a bit in his chest at her smile when she took it from him.

She asked two questions and he was trying to work out how to answer both of them when she apologized and asked a single question. Yes, he would have liked more blood – he wanted to gorge himself on it – but a quiet warmth was suffusing his body now and he could feel his eyelids trying to droop again as he shook his head. He wanted more blood, but he also wanted to just sit there, drifting in the warm quiet.

He snapped to attention at her order, though, all his lethargy vanishing in an instant. He had absolutely no idea how to follow it. Get comfortable for sleep? What did that even mean? Should he lie down? Stay sitting up? Get off the bed and assume the display position? What did she expect him to do? 

He didn’t sleep at all when he was with a renter. The yellow goo that was pumped into his stomach did something to him that didn’t allow him to sleep or pass out from whatever agony he was experiencing, so he was kept fully alert as long as his renter fed him on schedule. The only time he slept was at the slave compound – because his trainer used a different formulation of the goo that kept him conscious while he was being claimed or punished but allowed him to sleep when ordered to – but there was absolutely no ‘comfort’ involved. He was ordered into the display position, left hanging in chains, or left manacled to whatever structure had held him for his last punishment. 

He could hear her coming back now… what should he do? Whatever it was, he needed to do it fast. He moved his hands to the bed and started to slide down, intending to lie flat. She’d placed him in that position earlier, so maybe that’s what she wanted him to do, but he’d waited too long to obey and he froze as she stepped into the room.

He’d barely moved and he was sure that she’d be furious at his disobedience… but she smiled. Was there no end to her kindness? He started trembling again, but it wasn’t from fear this time. It was shock. Pure and simple. He’d blatantly disobeyed an order and instead of being angry about it, she’d smiled.

She stepped up to the bed then removed most of the pillows he’d been leaning against, tossing them into the corner. She turned off the overhead light, leaving the room lit only by the small lamp on the table next to the bed. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness, then watched as she climbed into the bed next to him.

She didn’t say anything as she tugged at him, moving him down and placing his head on her chest. His arm was laid over her stomach and he held himself rigid as he felt her arm wrap around his back and pull him close. Her other hand started rubbing his hair and the thub-thub of her heart was just under his ear as she started speaking quietly. He blocked out the sound of her heart and concentrated on her words.

She wasn’t going to punish him for anything? He could tell her ‘no?’ He could make mistakes? He felt his eyes welling up when she said she was angry about what had been done to him and that she was going to make his betrayer fix him. And when she said she loved him, the dam broke and tears poured from his eyes. 

He lay there, still trembling – from what, he didn’t know anymore – and cried silently on his owner’s chest. The thub-thub of her heart along with the gentle motions of her fingers in his hair started lulling him to sleep again. As his consciousness dimmed, his subconscious started sifting through his recently unlocked memories, filling in gaps and putting names with faces. Joyce, Dawn, Willow, Xander, Giles, Drusilla… they were all coming back to him now. 

And Buffy. His Buffy. She’d rescued him from his torment, was taking care of him, was being patient with him, gentle with him… loved him.

He unconsciously squeezed with the arm laid across her stomach just before the blackness consumed him once again. Buffy loved him.


	17. Details

This is most definitely a ‘do not eat while reading’ chapter, so leave those Thanksgiving leftovers chillin’ in the fridge. One of my betas (the lovely Passion4Spike) asked for a scene showing what happened to Spike to make him break. I wrote one and then she beefed it up quite a bit, so a hearty thanks to her for the extra added angst and gore. (See… my muse isn’t the only one who likes torturing our poor, wee Spikey.)   
It’s highly descriptive and extremely graphic… so be warned.

Service Unit  
Chapter Seventeen – Details

The little alarm clock on the bedside table beeped and Buffy blindly flailed her arm out until she’d located the button that would turn it off. She laid there, blinking in the dim light from the lamp as she brought her alarm clock hand back to where it had been resting on Spike’s fuzzy head. She'd been dreaming about a fully healed Spike, snarking and bantering with her as he’d punched and kicked and whirled around some shapeless demon. His fangy smile had been radiant; his joy in the fight shining clearly in his amber eyes as he’d roared a battle cry and launched himself into the air.

She tightened her hold on the vampire lying on her chest and had to choke back a sob at the thought that a fighting Spike might be something she saw only in her dreams from now on. She stroked his soft hair for a few minutes then carefully slid out from underneath him and stood up next to the bed. He looked a little uncomfortable with his face smooshed into the mattress, so she walked around to his side of the bed and maneuvered him into a more comfortable looking position then tugged the covers up to his shoulders. She felt something crusty on the sheet and turned the covers back just a little to look at it. Was that dried semen? She leaned down and sniffed. Yeah, she knew that scent.

She stood up and looked at Spike’s slack face then back down at the sheet before smiling slightly. Spike had apparently had a wet dream when he’d fallen asleep sitting up last night, so there was the proof that Slayer blood was an aphrodisiac for vampires. _Nice to know that it’s affecting him, at least a little. So get ready, Spike, I’m gonna stuff you so full of Slayer blood that it’ll run out your ears. We’re gonna wake up your demon, dammit._ She stripped the comforter and sheet off the bed, piling the comforter on the floor and tossing the dirty sheet into the hamper. She stepped into the closet and fetched a clean top sheet then quickly remade the bed around the still sleeping vampire. 

She leaned down and kissed his cheek then stood up and stared down at him for a few minutes. _Wonder who he was dreaming about?_ She smiled widely and headed for the bathroom. _You know what? It doesn’t even matter. At least he had a good dream instead of a nightmare, probably for the first time in two decades._

She took a quick shower and pulled on her hanging-out-at-home sweats then pulled her hair back into a loose pony tail. She stopped by her guest bedroom and rapped twice on the door before pushing it open. The trainer was sitting on the edge of the bed and he looked up at her. She nodded back over her shoulder. “I’m going to make breakfast. Do you need to eat? What do you eat?”

“Your dimension does not contain the sustenance I require, madam, but I fed well before I left mine and will not need to feed again for some time.”

“Okay, then stay in here until I come get you. And be quiet. I don’t want Spike to even know you’re here if I can help it.”

“As you wish, madam.”

Buffy shut the door then stepped back down the hallway and poked her head into her room. Spike was still sleeping and hadn’t moved at all that she could tell, so hopefully he hadn’t heard the trainer speaking. She nodded. _Good._

XX  
XXXX  
XX

Eating breakfast had been a bad idea. A very bad idea. Buffy pulled the trash can closer to the couch and leaned over it, dry heaving for what had to be the twenty-fifth time since she’d decided to read Spike’s binder.

She pushed the can back and sat up, dragging the sleeve of her sweatshirt over her face. She leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes, breathing slowly until her stomach had stopped pitching and rolling like the deck of a ship caught in a hurricane, then she took a deep, steadying breath and looked down at the open binder lying next to her on the cushion. 

The trainer definitely had a raging case of OCD because the details he’d recorded were astounding in their detailness. She could understand how the trainer’s notes on each training session and punishment were so exacting because he’d been the one who’d done all those things to Spike, but the rental contract reports floored her. It was like the trainer had been there, watching absolutely everything and writing it all down. He’d even described the expressions on Spike’s face when he hadn’t been wearing the hood. And there were pictures. Lots of pictures. And nearly every single one of them showed Spike in some kind of agony.

She’d made it through the notes on Spike’s training in a little over two hours… and eight or nine ‘discussions’ with the trash can. His first punishment, six days after he’d arrived in the slave dimension, had been the ticket her bacon, eggs, toast, and orange juice had needed to get on the express train headed back up her esophagus. She’d never seen a human body that damaged. He’d barely even been recognizable as human at all, looking like a half squashed bug with his main joints all bending the wrong way and several ‘new’ joints added to places that weren’t supposed to bend. And then they’d left him like that, letting him heal almost all the way before using the straightening and righting of his limbs as another punishment when he’d continued to refuse to follow their commands.

All the astounding details painted horrible, regurgitation inducing tableaus in her mind, as if the scenes were playing out in her living room. She could hear Spike screaming in pain and cursing in rage, she could hear the wet snapping sound of breaking bones and Spike’s shrieks of agony, she could smell the blood, and she could practically taste the stench of burning flesh. Any kind of cooked meat would definitely be off her menu for quite a while… probably the rest of her life. Even the thought of it made her want to lunge for the garbage can again.

The whole thing tore at her heart, and she’d had to stop reading more than once, not only to puke her guts out, but because she simply couldn’t see through her tears. Each time she stopped made it that much harder to go back, but she pressed on, swallowing down her heartache, rage, and disgust until it felt like she had an acid factory lodged in her midsection. She had to get through this, though, she had to know – something in here could hold the key to helping him now – and because he’d been strong enough to live it, then she could damn well be strong enough to read about it.

Now, eight long hours after she’d retrieved the binder from her junk cupboard, she’d just started reading about the last renter in the long, long, long list of demons that Spike had serviced. Every single one of them had had only one goal, it seemed: to cause Spike as much pain as they possibly could. Some had done that by beating him with their bare… well… hands wasn’t really the right word… so, their bare… whatevers. Basically they’d hung him up and used him as a punching bag. Others had beat him using sticks, clubs, or other similar implements, and one renter had used what looked like a fish. It had short, stiff spines all over it like a porcupine, but it was shaped like a fish, and he’d spent an inordinate amount of time slamming it into Spike’s balls and then jerking the spines free when they’d become imbedded in his flesh.

Buffy had found herself cringing time and time again, until her muscles were cramped with pain. Each subsequent entry seemed worse than the one before. As she’d read, she’d kept praying that it would be the last one, that the next page would be blank, but her prayers had fallen on deaf ears for eight long, torturous hours. Buffy was no lily-white virgin or naïve school-girl; she knew what kinds of things demons were capable of. Her research on Angelus, Spike, and Drusilla had quite effectively knocked the bloom off that rose at the tender age of seventeen, but the level of depravity reaching out from the pages of the binder was beyond anything she could’ve previously imagined. And now it was permanently tattooed on her brain and embedded in her heart like broken shards of glass, cutting her with every breath.

Although beating Spike into hamburger had been a favorite pastime of some of his renters, most of them had raped him, repeatedly and in the most brutal and repugnant ways possible. Even the females he’d serviced had raped him, which Buffy thought was monumentally stupid because Spike was a fantastic lover and would’ve rocked their worlds if they’d just let him do his thing. Only one of the females had allowed him to get any pleasure out of the act; the rest had just gotten him hard then had kept him that way with a ring or the plug – or both – using him for days or weeks at a time without allowing him any kind of release. 

Whoever had taken the pictures – the trainer, she assumed – seemed to be obsessed with showing Spike’s ravaged, swollen penis. At least one of the females had been obviously incompatible with Spike’s anatomy. There was a series of pictures that showed a leopard-skinned demon with feline features and a fire-engine-red mane of flowing tresses riding Spike like a runaway horse. The expression on her face was unmistakable: rapture. The expression on Spike’s face was equally unmistakable: utter anguish. His body was taut on the floor beneath her, his back bowed, every tendon and muscle as tight as piano wire as he pulled against his restraints, and his mouth was open in a silent scream. A photo of the aftermath had made Buffy heave into the garbage can again. Spike’s penis looked like it had been through a meat-grinder; his tender flesh torn and shredded. If Buffy hadn’t _known_ what it was, she wouldn’t have known what it was, and he’d lost so much blood that he’d gone soft, even with the ring. 

The leopard-demon had complained that Spike was ‘too fragile’ when his trainer had shown up to collect him and she’d demanded a refund, even though she’d ridden him practically non-stop for the entirety of her two-day rental. The notes revealed that even though the renter had climaxed thirty-two times, Spike had still been punished because she’d claimed to be unsatisfied with his performance, and his already mutilated penis had been soaked in holy water for hours, leaving it looking like something that had been left on the grill too long: blackened and charred … unrecognizable as human.

But as depraved as the females had been, the males had managed to outdistance them almost exponentially. Most had raped Spike with whatever passed for their penis, and only a very few had an appendage that Buffy could look at and say, ‘Yep, that’s a penis.’ The rest… not so much. There had been tentacle-like things, scale covered things, things that had sharp barbs or other protrusions, and things that defied any kind of description, but they’d all had at least one thing in common – they’d all been brutally forced into Spike.

And when they hadn’t been forcing some part of their body into Spike’s body, they’d used toys. Most had used the toys the trainer had displayed to her, but a few of Spike’s earliest renters had gotten creative, using whatever was handy. One renter, who apparently didn’t have any external sexual organs, had spent three days sodomizing Spike with a broken tree branch, shuddering in obvious pleasure every time Spike had tried to scream from the pain. 

The trainer had taken great pleasure, it seemed, in counting the number of times the renter had demanded that Spike scream as he shoved the thick, splintered wood deep into Spike’s body, utterly destroying every organ south of his lungs. _‘The unit’s inability to verbally articulate its agony is both a stimulant and frustration for this renter. This appears to allow the renter to sustain his pleasure much longer than with previous units that were capable of expressing their discomfort. I suggest we demand a higher price for this unit in the future for this added benefit. I have never witnessed this renter sustain his pleasure for more than half an hour on previous occasions, while with this unit he is approaching four hours of continuous orgasmic enjoyment.’_ The trainer had also noted that if the branch had been angled slightly differently and had been forced a mere four inches further in, it would have pierced Spike’s heart, dusting him. _‘I would also suggest that we provide all future renters with a wide variety of toys that are not made of wood, at no extra cost, of course, or we run the risk of losing a highly profitable unit.’_

Buffy swallowed back more bile and shivered, suddenly cold as she remembered reading about the day they’d taken Spike’s voice. He’d held up under brutal conditions for a year and a half, fighting every step of the way, but that was the day he’d finally broken. He’d already had his hearing and ability to scent taken from him a few weeks earlier, but, in true Spike fashion, he’d kept resisting all the trainer’s efforts to force him to follow commands. The trainer had continued to tap him with that stick and Spike had continued to sneer and curse and spew insult after insult as he’d blatantly refused to move into the proper position. One of the trainer’s assistants or the trainer himself had then forced Spike into position, making him hold it for several minutes to several hours before he’d been punished for not following the order. 

The punishments had varied; sometimes they’d been only a simple blow from a fist or the command stick, sometimes he’d been punished by being sprayed with holy water or having crosses pressed to his skin, and sometimes he’d been hung from a chain in the middle of the training room to be beaten or flogged. But the punishment that had been used the most had involved Spike being strapped and manacled to a table that looked disturbingly like the one in the exam room of Buffy’s gynecologist before being gang raped over several hours by an average of ten demons. There had never been less than five and one time – after Spike had managed a kick that had hit his trainer in a delicate part of his anatomy – there had been twenty-four demons, and that part of the punishment had lasted nearly four days.

On the day in question, Spike had already been punished by being whipped, having one cross shoved up his ass and another strapped to his penis for two hours, and being gang raped, anally and orally, by nine demons. But he’d still fought, refusing to move into the display position when ordered to. He’d snarled at, sneered at, cursed at, spit on, and called his trainer pretty much every dirty name ever invented, a few of which Buffy was pretty sure he’d just made up. The trainer had given the order again, and of course Spike had refused, throwing a two-finger salute even though his hands had been restrained behind him at the time. The trainer had struck him across the cheek with the command stick and Spike had let his demon out, snapping his fangs at his trainer and threatening to rip his throat out the next time he touched Spike with that stick.

The trainer had ordered that Spike be strapped to the ‘rape table’ then had tipped his head back over the edge and secured it in place so that Spike’s throat was bared. Spike had continued to snap his shortened fangs at the trainer and an assistant as they’d come close, each holding a pair of wicked looking pliers (a picture of the pliers was stapled to the page). They’d been fast, clamping the pliers down onto Spike’s fangs even as he’d tried to shake off the demon. Then they’d twisted and Spike had howled in agony, his body arched off the table, struggling against his restraints as his fangs were violently ripped out. He’d choked on the blood pouring from the empty sockets, splattering it all over his face, neck, and chest. He’d then spit a mouthful of it at his trainer, hitting him in three of his eyes before loosing a series of curse words that would have made the most foul-mouthed person on Earth blush like a virgin. Yes, the trainer had noted down each and every one, and Buffy had to give Spike props for his inventiveness. Some of them weren’t even in English. She recognized a few different demon languages in the mix along with French, Italian, German, and what she thought might be Portuguese.

The trainer had then called to what Buffy had dubbed the ‘rape squad,’ and six large, ugly demons had trooped into the room and had lined up according to penis size – extremely large to grotesquely large – between Spike’s legs. Spike had screamed. A lot. He’d started screaming when the first demon had thrust into him, ripping his anus and sphincter, and stretching his colon to cyclopean proportions, the thrusting member making Spike’s abdomen look like there was something alive inside him that was struggling to break out. The trainer had noted that Spike’s screams were continuous, broken only by his need to draw in more air to scream with. 

The fourth demon had slammed its mammoth cock deep into Spike’s torn, bleeding, ravaged hole, stretching him and ripping him even further than the previous three demons had already managed. Each thrust of the demon’s hips had driven a shriek of anguish from Spike’s throat as it had plunged its penis deeper and deeper into Spike’s body. The trainer had noted that Spike’s shriek had turned to a decidedly shrill howl when the demon had snarled out his release and emptied its acidic semen deep into Spike’s destroyed bowels, burning him from the inside out … literally branding Spike with its spunk. The fourth demon had jerked its hips into Spike a few more times for good measure before pulling out and smacking his semi-hard, acid-covered cock against Spike’s balls and penis, laughing gleefully before making room for the next in line.

Spike’s howl had morphed into strangled, ear-piercing screeches as his balls sizzled and his tender flesh burned and blackened. The fifth demon had stepped up between Spike’s legs, wrapped what passed for his hand around Spike’s blistered cock, and squeezed hard, making Spike’s whole body tense up. Spunk had squirted out of Spike’s hole, leaving his devastated channel smoldering and bubbling with acid burns. The demon had laughed appreciatively as Spike’s screeches had faltered, then began again in earnest. Still squeezing Spike’s cock hard, keeping the vampire’s body taut and his hole as tight as it could be, the demon had lined his steely, elephantine cock up with Spike’s ass, waiting to time its plunge into him with the moment that Spike was at the zenith of pain and his channel was as tight as it could get.

Without warning, just as the fifth demon had roared and impaled Spike’s tightened channel with its massive appendage, the trainer had slashed his claws across Spike’s throat. The trainer had noted down how far the blood had spurted and how Spike’s screams – that had increased in volume as the fifth demon violently raped him, never releasing Spike’s cock from his crushing grip – had been cut off sharply when the trainer had installed the stone in Spike’s larynx. The trainer had then gone on to describe the look of complete hatred on Spike’s face when the fifth demon finally moved away and the final demon in the lineup – one with a cock at least twice as big around as the demonstration dildo (yes, there was a picture) – had slammed into him. 

Spike had tried to scream at the agony of being torn nearly in two, but he couldn’t. His look of hatred had intensified as he’d kept trying to scream and howl in pain as the sixth demon violently pistoned its hips, ramming its rock-hard appendage up Spike’s ass like a jackhammer, ripping the vampire apart. Spike’s expression had melted into one of despair and he’d stopped trying to scream exactly seventeen minutes later (as noted by the trainer). The demon had finished raping Spike twenty-three minutes after that, and by then, Spike had been sobbing and continuously mouthing a litany that the trainer was OCD enough to write down: “Please help me, Buffy, please. My demon’s deserted me and I can’t do this on my own. Please come for me. I can’t stay strong without it. Please, Buffy, please come.”

The trainer had left Spike strapped to the table overnight, blood and demonic semen dripping from his destroyed hole, his cock and balls blistered and blackened. The wound on his neck had gaped and dripped blood as he’d continued to sob for hours, his litany of mouthed words gradually shortening to only two words, “Buffy, please,” and even that had stopped eventually. When he’d been released in the morning, he’d dropped immediately into the display position when ordered to, even though he hadn’t been fed and could barely move because of all the unhealed damage from the day before. The trainer had noted that his pelvis had been broken in eight places and both hips had been dislocated from his legs being stretched open wide enough to accommodate the massive bulk of the demons that had assisted in the punishment.

The rest of the training notes had gone fairly quickly after that. They’d had to let him heal for nearly two weeks before his training could continue, but Spike’s will to fight had been shattered like a piece of bone china dropped off a skyscraper. His whole reason for being had been taken from him. Everything that was ‘Spike’ was simply gone, destroyed… obliterated… and Service Unit 238 had been placed into the active rental queue about two months later.

Buffy closed her eyes against the tears that threatened again, but it was futile to try to stop them. They spilled from behind her lids, hot and salty, staining her cheeks with utter despair. Her stomach heaved and roiled, but she didn’t even move for the garbage can – there wasn’t anything left inside her to come up. In fact, it felt like there was nothing left inside her at all. Her heart, her very soul, seemed to have taken refuge somewhere else… far away from the pictures now playing over and over in her mind. Spike, the strongest demon… no, the strongest **man** she’d ever known had been destroyed. Utterly destroyed. It wasn’t his physical strength that had been taken from him, but something so much more valuable: his spirit. She’d never known Spike to give up. EVER. In fact, that was one of the first things they’d learned about Spike from his grandsire: ‘Once he starts something, he doesn’t stop until everything in his path is dead.’ 

Spike had been captured and chipped, and, after a few weeks of moping, he’d adapted and then he’d taken on a Hell God, surviving her torture with his spirit intact. He’d gone through the Demon Trials to gain his soul, and yeah, he’d been a little crazy for a while after that, but he’d adapted once more, coming out of it with his spirit stronger than ever. Then he’d burned closing the Hellmouth, but even dying and coming back hadn’t dulled his spirit if Andrew’s report on his activities in LA was anything to go by. He’d been the same old Spike, snarking and fighting his way through his unlife, but the little yellow demon in her guest room had managed to break that spirit, leaving nothing but an empty Spike-shaped shell behind. He’d taken everything from Spike. Everything.

Buffy’s chin quivered and her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she opened her eyes, wiping them with her sleeve. She took several deep breaths, trying to re-focus her mind and finish this. She had to finish… she had to know everything. She picked up the binder and laid it across her lap, gritting her teeth in determination as she started to read.

A short time later, Buffy closed the binder and shoved it away from her, her vision again blurred with tears. She’d carry the images of Spike’s torture and abuse in her head for the rest of her life, and they’d undoubtedly cause more than a few nightmares, but out of the two of them, she’d gotten off easy. She’d only read about it. Spike had lived it… and survived it. Now she just needed to get his heart back… his spirit. She knew his body would heal, but what about the rest? Would he ever be able to function on his own again? Would he ever be able to do even the simplest of tasks without being told to? Would she ever hear his voice again? Would he ever call her ‘pet’ or ‘luv’? Would he ever call Dawn ‘Niblet’? Would she ever see anything but fear in his beautiful blue eyes? Would he ever love her again? 

“God, Spike…” she moaned to herself, clamping her eyes shut against the pain as a dagger stabbed her heart and twisted violently. “Please… please, Spike. Please come back to me. I love you… God, I love you so much. Please… love me.”

Buffy didn’t know how long she’d simply cried, curled up on the couch and wallowing in pity, both for herself and Spike. It was at once too long and not nearly long enough. Finally, though, she pulled herself together, prodding the Slayer side of herself to get back on the clock, and began to try to sort through everything from a more detached perspective. At least she’d learned a few things. Some things she added to the top of the pile of disturbing that was rivaling Mount Everest in height – like how Spike had come by those punctures on the backs of his knees and the damage to his penis, and what, exactly, that ‘specialized sustaining fluid’ had been formulated to do to him – but a lot of the things she’d learned explained why he was acting the way he was. For example, the whole forehead to her shoe thing after the shower. He’d been trying to thank her, to show his gratitude, and she’d completely misunderstood the gesture. 

She’d also learned all about those stones that the trainer had removed from Spike. Especially how to install them. She’d have to get that little silver stick from the trainer so she could make Angel deaf. That way she could talk about her plans and Angelus – who she was fairly certain was at the controls – wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop and formulate ways to thwart those plans. And that, coupled with the large ball gag, would piss him off because he wouldn’t be able to engage in his favorite pastime… fucking with people’s minds. Yeah, she could just install the silencing stone, but having to wear a glittery pink ball gag would be so much more humiliating, and Buffy thought it was way past time for Angelus to experience some of what Spike had gone through.

She also needed to get the black rock from the trainer because she was definitely going to use it on Angel. It would make things so much easier to be able to knock him out without having to club him in the head, although, depending on her mood at the time, she might just club him anyway. And she wouldn’t have to wait for him to wake up when she did; she could just use that black rock to wake him up… and then maybe she’d club him again. Wake him up, club him, wake him up… It would be like a slow-motion game of Whac-a-Mole. That brought a slight smile to her face.

Reading the binder had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but in a way it was also one of the best. She now knew everything that Spike had endured and his current condition was a testament to just how stubborn, strong, and resilient he was. He should have been either a gibbering lunatic or completely catatonic – an emotionless automaton – after going through the things he had, but even though his spirit had been broken, he was still mostly sane, still functioning on a basic level, and still able to adapt to new circumstances, albeit with fear and trepidation. He could come back from this, she knew it. It would take time and there would for sure be enough tears from both of them to float a battleship, but she’d help him fix his spirit even if they had to put it back together with duct tape. Spike would prevail. His spirit would heal.

She glanced at the clock on the wall above her phone table. It was time to feed her beautifully stubborn vampire. She stood slowly from the couch and picked up the binder with one hand and the trash can with the other then headed for the kitchen. She set the trash can on the floor and considered the binder for a moment, wondering if she should just toss it now that she’d read it. She shook her head and stuffed it back into the cupboard. Whether or not to get rid of the record of his torture and abuse was a decision for Spike to make. It might even be helpful. Once he was ready, they could take it somewhere and burn it, signifying the end of that part of his life.


	18. Clothes

Service Unit  
Chapter Eighteen – Clothes

He woke to the sound of someone retching. He lay still, listening, and realized it was his owner... Buffy. It was Buffy. He blinked. He remembered. Everything. He’d been so careful to stuff all the memories of his past into a box and lock it up tight, but seeing Buffy, hearing her speak his name and the names of others – Dawn, Giles, Angel – had broken the lock and smashed the box, freeing them all. And apparently, his subconscious had been busy while he'd slept, slotting his memories into their proper places like a manic postman.

He closed his eyes. He could hear her crying now. Great heaving sobs, the kind that made your nose run, and your throat hurt, and twisted your stomach into knots. Part of him wanted to go to her, offer some kind of comfort, but that part wasn't in full control yet, it seemed, because he couldn't force himself to get out of bed. The most he could do was sit up and lean against the headboard like he had the previous evening. He apparently couldn’t overcome his training just yet, so he sat, listening to Buffy cry for a while then get quiet then retch again. It didn't sound like she was bringing anything up, so she must have emptied her stomach already. What was she doing that was causing her to throw up? 

She was quiet again and his mind started to wander. He knew who she was. He knew who he was... well, in name, anyway. He was William Pratt, aka William the Bloody, aka Spike. He knew that, but... he didn't **feel** like Spike. Something was missing. He’d recovered all his memories, even the ones from when he’d been human, which he could have done without, but the… life didn’t really fit, but it was the only word he could think of… the life behind them was gone, making them look like old, washed out newspaper clippings. 

It was like he was an outsider looking in on a life that was long past. Like he was looking through an old scrapbook… _someone else’s_ scrapbook. Images raced through his mind, and although he knew that the man in the images was him and that the events had actually happened… it **wasn’t** him. He wasn’t that man… that demon… anymore. He didn’t know who… _what_ … he was, but he wasn’t Spike… or even William. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and gritted his teeth. He was… he was Service Unit 238. That’s all he knew how to be now.

His eyes popped open. That realization scared him more than anything he’d experienced during his entire time as a slave. What if this was all he could ever be? What if he couldn’t get the missing part of himself back? He wanted to fit himself back into his old life, bring those washed out images back to full color, but what if he couldn’t? What if he couldn’t be what his owner… what Buffy, needed? What if…. what if she couldn’t love him like this?

Spike tried to call on his demon to help him, but the bastard was still MIA – the bloody coward!! The little pansy was still hiding wherever it’d run off to the day he’d been broken. Spike closed his eyes again and concentrated, trying to call it back from wherever it was, and although he felt a slight stirring somewhere in the back of his mind, nothing happened. His fangs didn’t lengthen, his eyes didn’t turn amber, and his ridges didn’t form. 

He wanted to reach up and feel his gums to see if his fangs had grown out again or if they’d given up as well. He began to lift his hand then froze with it only an inch or so off the mattress. His eyes flew open, wide with panic, and he darted them quickly around to see if he’d been observed. He quickly dropped his hand back to the bed and swallowed hard in relief. No one had seen him. _But she said I could move._ His eyes darted to the doorway. _My owner… no… **Buffy** … gave me permission to move._

He steeled his nerve and tried again, but his arm refused to budge. He clamped his hand closed in a frustrated fist and tried to lift it off the mattress, but still nothing happened. He was physically unable to raise his hand up to touch his mouth. Because it wasn’t allowed. He slid his hand away from his leg then back, then he lifted it off the mattress, raising it above his head, then set it back down. _She gave me permission to move, but not to touch myself, so if I try to move with that as my intention, I can’t._ He tried one more time to lift his hand toward his mouth, but no matter how much he strained, he couldn’t bypass his training, and he suddenly hated himself for being so weak.

He was worthless! Completely worthless! He’d never be Spike or William the Bloody or even that ponce William ever again! He was nothing, no one… a failure. An utterly useless lump of flesh, good for nothing but taking it up the ass and servicing whoever held his lease, and he couldn’t even do that right anymore! Buffy would surely cast him out, decide he wasn’t worth the trouble, and leave him sitting in the street like the worthless piece of trash he was. He couldn’t be a man, he couldn’t be a demon, and he couldn’t be a proper service unit, so what good was he?

His attention was diverted back to the woman in the other room. Buffy was crying again and he could hear her saying something as she sobbed, “God, Spike… Please… please, Spike. Please come back to me. I love you… God, I love you so much. Please… love me.” 

She loved him. Or so she said. His hatred for himself suddenly morphed into fury at her. Without warning, he was overwhelmed with red-hot burning resentment and anger, the likes of which he hadn’t felt in… so long he couldn’t remember. It flared inside his gut and seemed to physically heat his body with its intensity as angry questions blazed through his mind. _If she loves me so bloody much then why didn’t she come for me? Why did she leave me to be tortured and raped for so many years?_ She’d known he was in Los Angeles with Angel. The memories were a little fuzzy because of the drugs he’d been given, but he was sure Angel had told him that Buffy knew he was back and wanted to see him. _So why didn’t she look for me when I didn’t show up? Do I mean so little to her that she couldn’t even be bothered?_

_And how does she look exactly the same? Yes, she’s a Slayer and maybe they age more slowly than regular humans, but… it’s been YEARS since I was taken! YEARS! And she looks like she hasn’t aged a day from the last time I saw her!_ The image of Buffy standing in front of him in the Hellmouth flashed in his mind and he studied it then compared it to his first remembered image of the woman who was still crying in the living room. He frowned. The Buffy he’d seen yesterday when he’d first opened his eyes had actually looked **younger** than the one he remembered. Hellmouth Buffy had been under a great deal of stress, having had the fate of the entire world resting on her small shoulders, and it had shown in the small wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, her grayish pallor, and how thin she’d been, but Living Room Buffy had a little more meat on her bones and she looked fit and healthy, if not exactly happy.

Spike shook his head as his fury bled away, the flames dying almost as quickly as they’d flared. No. Something else was going on. The Buffy he’d known, the one from his wan, lifeless memories, didn’t say she loved someone unless she meant it, so he had to believe she’d been sincere the several times she’d expressed her love for him since he’d been unpacked. Plus, she wasn’t that good an actress to be able to fake the anger he’d read on her face and in her posture… at least she’d never been able to fool him. He’d seen her angry more than once, and what he’d seen yesterday had been genuine. And Buffy didn’t play games like some teenage drama queen, so what would be the point of her sobbing on the couch just now when, as far as she knew, he was still asleep. She wasn’t putting on an act. Not to mention she’d never purchase a demon pleasure slave; **that** he was completely sure of. He doubted she’d even known such things existed before yesterday. 

She wasn’t crying anymore. He listened intently, but couldn’t hear anything except her breathing and the ticking of a clock. He wanted to get up and go out there; find some way to ask her just what, exactly, was going on, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t force himself to get up off the bed. He could open and close his eyes, lift and lower his hands – as long as he didn’t intend to touch himself – move his legs, lie down, and sit up, but that was it. That was all he’d been given permission to do.

He tipped his head back and let it rest against the headboard then tried calling up his demon again. Nothing. Well, the stirring way at the back of his mind had maybe seemed a little bit _more_ , but still no fangs or ridges. If he could get his demon to respond, get it back on the job, then he might be strong enough to fight the training, but as things stood… He sighed. It was looking like he’d be Buffy’s slave for a while longer. He hoped that it wouldn’t be forever, but the fear that he’d never be ‘Spike’ again, that he’d never be anything worthy of her love, was a palpable weight that felt like it was crushing his unbeating heart.

XX  
XXXX  
XX

When Buffy stepped into the bedroom, Spike was awake and sitting up, leaning against the headboard. She smiled at him as she walked up to his side of the bed and sat down next to his knee. “Morning, or, I guess, afternoon. Did you sleep okay?” He nodded, his expression melting into a look of concern as he took in her swollen and red-rimmed eyes. She shrugged then held out one of the two mugs she was holding, trying to make her smile a little brighter. “I’m fine. And I’m really proud of you for sitting up on your own instead of waiting for me to tell you to. That’s good, Spike… super-good. Here you go.”

He took the mug from her after only a few seconds and drank it down quickly. She took the empty and replaced it with the full one in her other hand. He drank that one a little slower, rolling the last of it around in his mouth. His eyes drifted closed as he swallowed and a very slight, almost not-even-there smile flitted across his lips. He opened his eyes, his gaze intent on her as he held out the empty mug. Buffy took it then asked, “Do you want some more?”

He considered for a few seconds then shook his head. “Okay. I want to check your injuries to see how you’re healing. Is that all right?” He blinked then his brow furrowed a little before he nodded tentatively. Buffy set the empty mugs down on the nightstand then stood up and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Just lean forward a little so I can look at your back.” He did and she smiled. His back was nearly healed; just the deepest claw marks and punctures still needing a little more time. She patted his shoulder then sat back down. “It’s looking good, Spike. Should be fine by tomorrow.” She laid her hand on the comforter that was bunched at his waist. “Can I look at the rest?” His brow furrowed again then he nodded. She lifted the comforter and sheet away from him, pulling them into her lap, and peered at his genitals. They looked practically normal. There were a few scratches still scabbed over on his penis, but his scrotum looked just as she remembered it. She pointed at his groin. “Do you still hurt?”

Spike seemed to consider then shook his head once and nodded once. Buffy lifted her hand and rocked it back and forth as she said, “Kind of?” Spike nodded. “Okay. Will you roll onto your side so I can check… uh…” He slid down and rolled onto his right side before she’d finished speaking then bent his left leg, lifting his knee to his chest. Buffy didn’t notice his flinch as she glanced at the back of his right knee, noting that the punctures were still scabbed over, but the scabs seemed a lot smaller than they had been when she’d given him that sponge bath. Then she leaned down and checked his anus. The swelling and bruising were practically gone, and although she could still see evidence of tearing, it was slight. She reached out and patted his hip. “Looks okay. You can roll back over.” He rolled slowly and resumed leaning against the headboard. “Um… do you have much pain… back there?” He shook his head.

She replaced the covers, smiling a little at his look of surprise, then took his hand in hers. “Good. Okay… um… I have some clothes for you if you want to wear them. You don’t have to if you’re comfortable being naked… and believe me, I really don’t mind the view at all, so don’t wear them on my account or anything, but I have them if you want them. Do you?”

The look of shock on his face was almost comical as he considered her words, then his brow knitted and he frowned. She squeezed his hand to get his attention then nodded at his torso. “It’s okay for you to wear the clothes, Spike. Like I said, I don’t mind the view of you without them, but I also don’t mind the view of you in them. You look good either way, and I’m fine with whatever you want to do, so if you want the clothes, just nod.”

Buffy sat quietly and let him think then smiled widely at him when he brought his eyes up to hers and nodded forcefully. “Okay then. I’ll be right back with them. I have jeans and sweats, but I think the sweats would be a little more comfortable until you’re…” She waved at his groin area. “…all the way healed. The jeans might… uh… chafe areas that you’d rather not have chafed right now with your whole ‘allergic to wearing underwear’ thing. You know?” She held up her hand in a ‘stop’ gesture at Spike’s confused expression. “You don’t have to answer that; I’m just babbling. Be right back.”

She returned a few minutes later carrying a pair of sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a pair of socks. “Do you need help putting these on?” Spike looked a little scared as he considered the clothing in her arms then he shook his head, his expression changing to one of determination. “All right.” She set the clothes down next to his hip and picked up the empty mugs. “I’ll go take care of these and come check on you in a few minutes.” 

She took a few steps toward the door then turned back. “Oh, and you have my permission to touch whatever part of your body that you want. And… uh… you can touch or pick up or move any of the stuff in the apartment.” She closed her eyes and bobbed the mug in her right hand up and down a few times like she was checking things off a list as she muttered, “He can open or close his eyes, he can move whatever, he can touch whatever… oh!” She opened her eyes. “You can also go wherever you want to in the apartment, so if you want to come out to the living room when you’re done getting dressed, you can. Or you can stay in here, or go into the bathroom, or the kitchen, or wherever. Oh, except the guest bedroom. It’s the only closed door in the hallway. Please don’t go in there. I’ll explain why in a little while, okay?”

Spike nodded, but his expression was slightly confused and Buffy said, “We’ll take it from the top. Nod if you understand each thing as I name it off, okay?” Spike nodded again. “You can open and close your eyes whenever you want.” Spike nodded. “You can move whatever part of your body you want.” Spike nodded. “You can go anywhere in the apartment except the guest bedroom.” Spike nodded. “And you can touch anything in the apartment including yourself and me.” Spike blinked then nodded. “Okay. I think that covers everything, but if I forgot something, we’ll handle it when it happens. I’ll let you get dressed.”


	19. Permissions

Forgot to mention on the last chapter that Passion4Spike hath waved her angst wand over that one, this one, and several other chapters further on. She’s awesome.

Service Unit  
Chapter Nineteen – Permissions

She was bringing him more blood. He could smell it. His stomach growled and his gums itched slightly. He tried to call up the demon again then clenched his hands in frustration when nothing happened. The worry that his demon would never again surface returned to him full force. What was he without it? Not a man and certainly not a monster. He was just so confused. He was owned… a thing… and his owner was Buffy… the woman he loved more than anything else in creation, and trying to reconcile those two facts was spinning his head right around.

Buffy stepped into the room and walked over to the bed, sitting down next to his knee as she asked if he’d slept all right. He considered for a few seconds, realizing that he had. There’d been no nightmares that he could remember, the first time that had happened since he’d been captured, so he nodded as he looked her over. She looked like she’d been crying for a long time, her eyes and face were red and puffy, and he wondered what had caused it. He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, recently anyway, being that he’d been asleep until a little while ago, but what else could it be? 

He was most likely the biggest problem in her life right now, so her tears and vomiting must be because of him. Had she realized that he wasn’t ‘Spike’ anymore? Was she disappointed that the creature in her bed was less of a man? Less of a demon? Less of everything he’d been before? Had she realized that he’d serviced hundreds of demons… had hundreds of cocks and other things shoved up his ass… and now his ass was in her bed, defiling it with his filth… was that what had made her sick? Realizing just what he was? What she’d allowed inside her home? Put in her bed? Was it possible she’d figured out that he wasn’t anything close to the creature she proclaimed to love? Was her heart broken because she’d gotten his filthy, useless hide instead of the Spike she wanted? His dead heart twisted in his chest at the thought and his concern for her redoubled as guilt, confusion, and shame raged inside him for control.

Part of the shame he felt was because he was seriously falling down on his job as a service unit, considering that Buffy – his owner – had serviced him… given him pleasure… and he had yet to do the same for her. He’d been here at least a full day and hadn’t even brought her to orgasm once. That was his entire purpose now, his only reason for existing. He wasn’t supposed to be laying around in her bed being waited on hand and foot, making her cry, making her vomit, and causing her stress. Instead of being the one to **cause** her stress, he was supposed to be the one **relieving** it, and he would do his job and do it well… just as soon as she ordered him to. 

His face must have shown his concern for her because she cranked up her smile a little more and assured him that she was fine. He wondered briefly if she was lying… because she didn’t look fine at all… but then his training kicked in and reminded him sternly that whatever an owner says is the truth. Period. It was not his place to question anything! He was supposed to do as he was told and that was it. Order given – order carried out. There was no room for thinking or wondering, and there was absolutely no room for refusing. 

Somewhere in his mind it occurred to him that maybe that line of reasoning was wrong. It felt ‘off’ somehow, not quite right, but he wasn’t capable of fighting through to the dark corner where something had briefly contradicted his training. He stopped trying to locate whatever it was because she was talking again and he needed to pay attention so he could behave properly, follow the orders she gave, and hopefully prove himself useful enough to keep.

She’d praised him for sitting up on his own and he felt a wave of chagrin that he’d been praised for doing something so simple. He’d helped to save the world, more than once, and now here he was, being fussed over for sitting up on his own like he was an infant. He really was nothing. An absolute, unequivocal nothing. Clearly she could see that, or why else would she commend him for doing something any healthy child could manage before their first birthday? He had to do better! He had to… pay attention! She’s still talking, you useless git!

She was holding a mug out to him and looking at him hopefully. Spike steeled himself, intent on acting properly and doing what was expected of him, and it was obvious that she expected him to take the mug and drink the blood – probably the easiest task he’d ever been ordered to perform. The aroma wafting off the mug called to something deep inside him and he took it from her, drinking it down quickly. The warmth suffused him as she replaced the empty mug with the full one and he lifted it to his lips. He kept the last bit of blood in his mouth for a few seconds, trying to figure out what made it taste so good. It was stronger than the blood he’d had yesterday and was all from one source, not two sources mixed together. It also tasted familiar, like he’d had it before – not just yesterday, but sometime long ago – and he could practically feel his smaller wounds healing as his body absorbed its power. 

He swallowed it down and his eyes closed as he remembered where he’d tasted it before. China in 1900. His first Slayer. He smiled faintly at the memory then opened his eyes wide and stared at Buffy. She was giving him her blood. He didn’t have time to consider all the ramifications of that because she’d asked if he wanted more. He did some quick mental calculations, taking in her size, her Slayer healing, and the amount of stress she was currently under – stress that had made her lose whatever nourishment she’d ingested – then he estimated the amount of blood she’d already shed for him. If she’d only mixed her blood in with someone else’s like she had yesterday, then it wouldn’t be a problem, but because she’d filled two large mugs with **only** her blood, she needed more time to rebuild her supply. And drinking straight Slayer blood meant that he didn’t need as much anyway, so he shook his head.

His brain started trying to sort through vampire lore and law regarding freely-given Slayer blood, but it was interrupted by Buffy **asking** if it was all right for her to look at his injuries. He blinked and tried to fight the part of himself that was Service Unit 238, (for the sake of clarity, he suddenly decided to re-name that part Useless Piece of Shit Spike, Uposs for short) that was aghast she’d asked his permission, but again he failed. She owned him… still… and could do whatever she liked, so he nodded.

While she examined his back, he catalogued his injuries. There were a few sore spots on his back, his cock and balls weren’t exactly hurting, but they did ache a bit, his wrists and anus were still slightly sore, and he felt small twinges from the backs of his knees and around his hipbones when he moved, but that was it. Overall, he felt better than he could remember ever feeling – well, since he’d woken up at the slave compound, anyway. 

She had him lean back against the headboard then asked if she could look at the parts of his body that were covered by the blanket. Another struggle against Uposs was lost and he nodded. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to her asking him instead of commanding him, but he wanted to… no, he **needed** to. He **needed** to get past… get over… get **something** … What he needed was his blasted demon to get off its arse and slash Uposs to bloody ribbons. 

She asked if he was still hurting and he didn’t know how to tell her that yes, he was still in some pain, but that it wasn’t bad enough to make a fuss over. He’d had much worse, after all, and the pain he was still feeling was miniscule in comparison. He settled for shaking his head then nodding, hoping that would get the point across. She got it then asked him to roll onto his side so she could check the rest. 

He did, and a sharp lance of pain went through him when he moved his knee up to his chest. He flinched then took shallow breaths until she instructed him to roll back over. She seemed to be satisfied with his external condition, but something inside him apparently hadn’t healed yet, and moving like that had re-torn or re-ruptured whatever it was and it hurt quite a lot. He shook his head when she asked him about his pain, though, because it wasn’t coming from his ass, it was coming from his abdomen, and she hadn’t asked about his abdomen.

She covered him with the blankets and he looked down at them in surprise before he could stop himself, engaging in another battle with Uposs. It could understand being covered for sleep, especially since his owner had been with him, but why would she cover him now? This was actually the first time since he’d been captured that he’d been covered at all, except for when she’d put him in her bed yesterday. He’d woken up naked at the slave compound and naked he’d stayed. The only things he’d worn since then had been the hood, his restraints, the plug shoved up his ass, and various accoutrements on his cock and balls, but nothing that could be even vaguely construed as clothing. And blankets? The only blankets he’d seen had belonged to his renters and none of them had ever used one on him. Why would they? He was a **thing** … nothing more – and not even their ‘thing’, he was a **rented** thing.

And back in Sunnydale, long before his sojourn into the wonderful world of sex slavery, he’d never been what one would call modest. He could distinctly remember spending a lot of time in his crypt with Buffy, both of them just as naked as newly born babes, so again… Why had she covered him? It’s not like she hadn’t already seen his goodies… Was he unsatisfactory in some way? Was not only his behavior and demeanor unacceptable, but his physical form, as well? Did looking at his body – the body that would never be clean no matter how much it was scrubbed – make her sick? Had she lied to his trainer when she’d said that she found him appealing? It hadn’t sounded like a lie… then… but what about now? Had he proven himself to be so worthless and disgusting that she couldn’t even bear to look at him? That deep worry of being cast out into the street to starve returned with a vengeance. He had to do better! Had to prove that he could be useful to her, even if all she did was sit on his worthless face, riding his tongue until she collapsed from exhaustion. He had to…

His thoughts were interrupted when she took his hand in hers. Her hands were warm and her skin was soft against his as she said, “Good. Okay… um… I have some clothes for you if you want to wear them. You don’t have to if you’re comfortable being naked… and believe me, I really don’t mind the view at all, so don’t wear them on my account or anything, but I have them if you want them. Do you?”

He stared at her in complete shock. Firstly, because it finally hit that she’d touched him several times… the disgusting, filthy thing in her bed… so maybe she **wasn’t** repulsed by him… by the things he’d done and that had been done to him… and secondly, because slaves weren’t allowed to wear clothing. At all. But here she was, giving him the choice… remain naked as a slave should, or clothe himself like an actual person. He knew he **wasn’t** an actual person – he was a thing – but perhaps… perhaps he could dress like a person and pretend that he had some redeeming qualities, some worth. Although… she’d said that she didn’t mind him being naked… so should he remain so because she wished it? His mind started whirring and spinning in confusion. Buffy didn’t mind him being naked because she liked looking at him… and yet she’d offered him clothing. What was the correct course of action?

Buffy squeezed his hand lightly and he blinked, his thoughts crashing to an abrupt halt. She nodded towards his bare chest, “It’s okay for you to wear the clothes, Spike. Like I said, I don’t mind the view of you without them, but I also don’t mind the view of you in them. You look good either way, and I’m fine with whatever you want to do, so if you want the clothes, just nod.”

He was suddenly immersed in a pitched battle, with Uposs demanding that he say no… that he conform to his training… that he behave as a proper Service Unit should. It took great effort – an effort that was bolstered quite a bit by the Slayer blood coursing through his veins – but he finally won that skirmish, telling Uposs to get bent. He raised his eyes to hers, nodding with conviction. He would wear the clothes, he would pretend to be an actual person, Uposs be damned.

He tried to follow what she said in response to his nod, but he was still reeling a little from the struggle, and she was talking rather fast. He caught something about chafing and underwear and then her voice lifted in query, but he wasn’t sure what she’d asked. She held up her hand before he could puzzle it out, though, forestalling any reply he would have made, then left the room.

When she returned, she had a bundle of clothes clutched to her chest and she asked if he needed help to put them on. He knew how to dress himself, of course, but wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it when he wasn’t allowed to touch his body… or the clothing. Uposs reared up in fear at not being able to follow her command without breaking those rules and he stepped up and shouted it down. She’d given him permission to wear the clothes, so she obviously knew they would have to touch his body… and as for the rest? Putting them on without actually touching himself? Well… he would figure it out. He shook his head.

She picked up the empty mugs and started to leave then turned around and gave him the permission he needed to be able to don the clothing without breaking the no-touching-himself rule. And then she gave him permission to touch everything else in her apartment. He just watched her in shock as she went over the permissions she’d already given him. Then she told him he could move around the apartment, wherever he wanted to go… except for the guest bedroom. His brows furrowed even as he nodded. Basically, she’d just given him permission to do practically anything he wanted. But… what did he want? He wasn’t allowed to **want** anything… at least anything that was meant to happen anywhere outside his thoughts. How could he possibly know what to do?

He didn’t get a chance to decide that because she was talking again. He nodded his understanding at the permissions given for opening and closing his eyes and moving his body even as he felt ashamed that she was still treating him like a child… an exceptionally slow child. She restated the permission to move around the apartment with the exception of the guest bedroom, and he nodded as he wondered what was in there that she didn’t want him to see. And then he slammed the door on that. He wasn’t allowed to question an owner’s reasons for doing things, either. If she wanted him to know, she’d tell him, and until then, it was none of his business what she was keeping in there.

Then she reiterated the permission for touching himself and the items in her apartment, but when she added that he could touch her, he blinked and barely remembered to nod. He had explicit permission to touch his owner whenever he wanted? That just wasn’t done. Even slaves who weren’t constantly restrained in some fashion weren’t allowed to touch their owners or a renter of their own accord, not that he knew of any who actually **wanted** to. They would touch when ordered to, but because they **wanted** to? No. And even if they **did** , for some unknown reason, want to touch the creature that was responsible for the agony they were currently experiencing, they would never do so. The training was too strong – too deeply entrenched in every active service unit – that the thought would never even cross what was left of their minds.

He frowned at that. This was Buffy. Hell yes he wanted to touch her! He wanted to show her that he wasn’t useless! That he could be what she needed… even if all she needed from him was a daily dose of stress relief. He would love to be ‘Spike’ again… to be more to her than a vampire-shaped sex toy… but until his demon woke up or came back or whatever and helped him chop Uposs into messes, a sex toy was all he could be. A memory suddenly surfaced and he sighed. Even Spike had been nothing to her but a vampire-shaped sex toy, and that was probably all she wanted from him now, so what was the point in fighting to get his demon back at all? It’s not like he needed it to get his cock to rise or his tongue to work. He could service her every day for the rest of her life without his demon’s input or assistance… so why bother fighting?

If he did fight, it would be a minute by minute struggle until his demon reappeared, and even if it did, he wasn’t sure it would be strong enough to defeat this enemy. His demon had been gone so long and the enemy was deeply entrenched, its position well fortified. His shoulders slumped and his chin dropped to his chest in utter despair as the weight of fighting a losing battle settled onto him. Uposs might simply be too strong to be overthrown, and what would happen then? When his only use to Buffy was to bring her off to relieve stress? Stress that he’d caused her in the first place? Her love for him would wither and die, that’s what. She could get the same stress relief from her detachable shower head… and it wouldn’t need to be cared for or fed… it wouldn’t need her blood… and it wouldn’t lay there crying on her chest like a little girl. Buffy was a strong woman and wouldn’t be able to abide a weak, useless lump of flesh that couldn’t pull its own weight for very long.

He let the utter despair rest there for a few minutes, not even noticing that Buffy had left the room, then he slowly drew in a deep breath and raised his head, the Slayer blood in his veins helping him to gather up every fragment of strength he could find. He had to fight. He had to prove himself more useful than an implement one could pick up at any home improvement store. Even if his demon never returned and he couldn’t ever truly be Spike again, he could be as close an approximation as possible. He had all the memories… he knew how Spike acted, how he thought, how Buffy expected him to react to things… What was it they said? Fake it ‘till you make it? He’d probably never make it, but, he could… _try_. Just try. He shook himself and poked at all the discouraging thoughts with a sharp stick until they’d retreated to the back of his mind, then he squared his shoulders and looked down at the stack of clothes sitting next to his hip. On to the first skirmish, then. _Try, you useless sod. Just try._

He slowly moved his hand and gripped the edge of the covers in his fist then lifted them away from his body. He kept telling Uposs that he had permission to do this, repeating it over and over in his head, not noticing that he was mouthing the words as well. 

His abdomen twinged sharply when he swung his legs over the side of the bed and he had to pause for a few seconds, breathing deeply until the pain subsided. Then, with deliberate, controlled movements, he reached for the socks sitting on top of the pile and carefully lifted each foot, slipping a soft, warm sock onto them. He wiggled his toes and another barely-there smile graced his lips. Still fighting against Uposs, still admonishing himself to ‘try’, and silently chanting that he had permission, he maneuvered his legs into the sweat pants, another sharp twinge making him grimace and breathe until the pain lessened. 

He stood up, pulling the pants up as he did, but as soon as he let go, they started to slip back down. He examined the waistband then pulled the string tight and tied it in a knot. They still hung fairly low on his hips, the puncture wounds his last renter had left visible just above the fabric, but they shouldn’t fall off. 

The t-shirt was next, and his irritation at Uposs’s constant whining finally caused him to shout in his head, “You heard her give me permission! So shut your yap already! I’m not doing anything that I’m not allowed to do!” He stood there for a few seconds, waiting for Uposs to respond, but it was surprisingly silent. He nodded and picked up the shirt then slipped it over his head. Raising his arms to slide them into the sleeves caused another twinge, but it seemed to be just a little less sharp. He breathed through the pain then turned toward the end of the bed. Now all he had to do was make himself walk out of this room.


	20. Useful

Passion4Spike did double duty on this chapter, waving both her angst wand and her porn wand. Enjoy!

Service Unit  
Chapter Twenty – Useful

Buffy stepped back into the hallway and stopped. Spike was dressed and standing in the bedroom doorway, looking like he was trying to gather enough courage to step out of the room. She beckoned him with her right hand. “It’s okay, Spike. Come on out.”

He looked at her, his mouth set in a grim line of determination, then he hesitantly stepped across the threshold and into the hallway. He took a few halting steps, pausing for a few seconds at the guest bedroom door, then continued walking and stopped in front of her. She smiled at him then turned and started walking, saying over her shoulder. “Let’s go sit in the living room. I need to tell you something.”

XXXX

He followed her into the living room and watched her sit on the couch, then he knelt on the floor in front of her and sat back on his feet, placing his hands on his thighs. This would probably be the only chance he’d get to prove himself useful… to help her relieve some of the stress that was pouring off her in waves… if only she’d order him to service her, which he was certain she’d never do.

He’d never had to work to get his renters to want to use him, considering that they’d paid for the privilege and intended to get their money’s worth and more, but Buffy was different. First and foremost, she wasn’t a demon that considered the enslavement of other demons as natural. She was a human with human sensibilities and morals that told her slavery was wrong. Plus, she’d already stated several times that she wasn’t going to treat him like the slave he was, so if he had any hope of fulfilling his purpose, any hope of convincing her to keep him, then he’d have to do whatever he could to encourage her to the line of thinking that he was hers to use. 

Two thoughts suddenly stormed to the forefront of his mind. One – that he was too filthy and disgusting to be touched by her at all, and two – that he should just let her toss him out before he infected her with that filth. He gritted his teeth and battled the thoughts back, employing that sharp stick from before. She’d touched him already! Dozens of times! Every part of his body! And if she thought he was filthy and disgusting then she wouldn’t have done that, would she? He jabbed his pointy stick at the thoughts one more time then turned his back on them, hopefully leaving them to wither and die in the dark recesses of his mind.

He internally shook himself and tried to get his focus back. His objective right now was to encourage his owner to want to use him… Right. But how to do that?

Inspiration struck and he sifted quickly through his memories until he found the ones he was looking for. Spike had always been able to get Buffy in the mood even when she’d been denying she was even attracted to him, so maybe he could employ Spike’s methods to get her to want to use her slave as he was meant to be used.

Checking with his memories again, he molded his features into a sultry expression then trailed his gaze up her body, starting at her feet then moving up over her knees, pausing at the junction of her thighs while he let his tongue slip out to lick at his lip. He curled his tongue behind his teeth as his eyes slid slowly over the mounds of her breasts then across her throat. When his heated gaze met hers, her lips were parted slightly and she was breathing quickly. Now it was time for the clincher. He tilted his head then lightly bit his bottom lip and was rewarded with the sudden scent of her arousal. He felt himself harden in response and was elated when Buffy slid forward to the edge of the cushion and reached out, grasping the front of his shirt in her small fists and pulling him fully up onto his knees. His abdomen twinged sharply in pain at the movement, but he ignored it. His plan had worked!

Her lips crashed down onto his in a desperate kiss as she worked to get him out of the t-shirt he’d so recently put on. When she had to move back to pull the shirt over his head, she froze, her eyes wide with shock and guilt. She dropped the shirt to the floor like it was burning her hand and slid backwards. “Oh God, Spike, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head then pointedly looked at her crotch and licked his lips, amazed at how bold and forward he was being. Uposs was practically gibbering at the audacity of it all… service units **DID NOT** , under any circumstances, try to manipulate the actions of their owners. He told Uposs to shut it and tried to explain that if he was to stay here… to be kept instead of being tossed out with the rubbish… then he had to adapt to **this** owner’s needs. And **this** owner needed to be encouraged to use her slave. Plus, he reminded himself as he straightened his metaphorical spine and shot Uposs a two-finger salute, Spike was nothing if not bold and forward, so if he wanted to ‘be like Spike’ then he had to do the things Spike would do.

XXXX

Buffy sat down on the couch and was about to point to the cushion next to her and ask Spike to sit with her when he sank gracefully to his knees on the floor then sat back on his feet. She’d sort of known that was coming, but what he did next completely stunned her. He hadn’t looked at her with anything but fear, confusion, or misery since the hood had dissolved, but now… Damn! Was it getting warm in here?

She felt the familiar warmth and tingle starting up in her lady parts as Spike’s tongue slipped out and licked at his top lip. He’d always been the only one that could get her motor revving with just a look, even when she’d been sure it was completely out of gas. Somehow, and she’d never been able to figure out why, the look he was giving her right now had always flipped all her switches over to ‘horny now– must have Spike,’ and had always resulted in whatever clothing he’d been wearing being torn from his body.

And then he curled his tongue behind his teeth in that way that made her toes curl in response and she could feel the weight of his gaze as it traveled over her breasts and up to her face. When his eyes met hers, she felt like she’d just touched a live wire. A bolt of electricity shot through her, straight to her core, and then… ohhhh… there it was… the head tilt accompanied by the lip biting that had always made her want to jump on him and ride him all the way home, no matter how tired or sore or covered in Doublemeat Palace grease she’d been.

She slid forward and fisted her hands in his shirt, pulling him up to his knees. The only thought in her suddenly horny cavewoman brain was, “Spike lips… Lips of Spike,” and then she had them, and they were all soft and supple and yummy. She wanted his skin, too, wanted to feel its silky smoothness under her hands, but there was all this annoying cloth in the way. She started to wrestle him out of his shirt… why had she wanted him to wear it again? She couldn’t remember… oh… okay… have to stop kissing him long enough to get it over his head.

She pulled the shirt over his head, and when his face came into view again, the realization of what she was doing hit her like a bucket of ice water. She dropped the shirt and backed away in horror, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide with shock at her own behavior. What had she been thinking? Grabbing at him and pawing at him and stripping his clothes off without even asking him if that’s what he wanted! She was no better than that creepy little demon in the other room – simply mauling Spike as if she were his _owner_ … as if he were _property_. “Oh God, Spike, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head at her then dropped his eyes. She followed his gaze to… oh God… down there… where she was still all tingly. She dragged her eyes back up to his face just in time to see him lick his lips… and yeah, it was definitely getting freaking hot in here.

He raised his eyes to hers and licked his lips again. She felt herself blush and glanced down, eyes widening in surprise at the bulge that was tenting his sweats. She quickly brought her eyes back up to his. He couldn’t really want… could he? She was in her rattiest sweats, for Pete’s sake! Her face was probably still all splotchy from crying earlier, her hair was a mess, and she wasn’t even wearing makeup! The only thing she had going for her was the fact that she’d brushed her teeth before she’d gone in to feed him. But then again, Spike had never really cared what she’d been wearing or what she’d looked like. He’d wanted her any way he could get her… and anytime he could get her.

She glanced down again and felt her cheeks heat even more. He was **definitely** aroused… and it wasn’t the trained response thing like in the shower because she hadn’t even touched him… there. A light bulb went on over her head and she dragged her eyes up to his once more. It was her blood. He’d had a wet dream on half Slayer blood, so of course straight Slayer blood was going to affect him even more.

So… would it be okay for her to… do this? Do… him? Her body was screaming at her that there needed to be a lot more action and a lot less clothing and she should just get on with it already. She had Spike right there in front of her, giving her all the signals that clearly broadcasted his raring-to-go status. But if she did, then wouldn’t she be raping him just like all those demons because Slayer blood was kind of like Viagra for vampires? Did that make her blood a date-rape drug? Gah! It was too hard to think when he was still looking at her like that! And when his chest and arms were there with all his ripply muscles, and when he was licking his lips… again… _‘How about you just ask him, moron. He’s not stupid and he can answer questions.’_

Right. Ask him. She could do that. She had to clear her throat a couple of times before she could get any sound to come out of her mouth, but she finally managed to ask, “You mean… you want to… um… you… want me?” He nodded as she wondered why she suddenly felt like a teenager again, too embarrassed to articulate the actual words… to say, ‘penis’ or ‘vagina’ or ‘have sex.’ She was an adult woman who’d had penises in her vagina… and other places… and she’d had lots of sex. Lots and lots… most of it with the man kneeling in front of her sporting a very large, very hard penis – and, she had to admit, the whole kneeling thing was kind of pushing a few of her kink buttons… so why couldn’t she just say it? _‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Buffy. You’ve had his penis in your mouth! And up your ass! So just grow up already and quit being such a baby!’_

She cleared her throat again and asked, “Are you sure? You want to have sex?” He nodded vigorously and she bit her lip. “I don’t know, Spike… I mean… after everything… how can you? You’ve been… well… You don’t have to, you know. You aren’t a slave anymore. You know that, right? You can choose… you can say no.” 

Spike nodded then shook his head then nodded enthusiastically again and Buffy took that to mean that yes, he knew he wasn’t a slave, that no, he didn’t want to say no, and another confirmation that he did, in fact, want to have sex. “Are you sure that this is what you want? Totally and completely sure?”

XXXX

He was losing her. He hurriedly flipped through his memories then stuck out his bottom lip and dipped his head, looking at her through his lashes. She was staring hard at him now, and he saw it when she decided to take what he was offering. Her eyes glazed over with lust and she slid forward again, pressing her breasts against his chest and her thighs against his hips as her arms slid up over his shoulders to wrap around his neck.

XXXX

Oh God… not the pout. She was defenseless against that… the lip… the eyes… she couldn’t take it. And Spike knew that, so did that mean… Had he come back? Was he here? All the looks, the ones Spike knew how to use to get her horny when sex was the absolute last thing on her mind… he’d used every single one. She sat and stared at him, trying to figure out what to do.

He said that he knew he wasn’t a slave, but was he lying? Was he seducing her because he was still thinking like a sex slave and was trying to get her to use him? Did sex slaves do that? Or was he trying to show her that he was back? That he was Spike? He hadn’t done anything up to this point that was even remotely Spike-like, except for the tiny head tilt yesterday, but now… he was pouring on the Spike in bucketfuls.

He obviously wanted this… if the tent pole in his pants was any indication… and it had taken quite a lot of bravery and backbone to let her know that, whichever side of him was currently running the show – the slave or Spike – and she suddenly decided that she was going to reward him for that bravery. 

He’d been used and abused for so long and now she had the chance to make **him** feel good for once. To maybe help him get a little of himself back, like he’d helped her after she’d dug her way out of her own grave. And sex had always been what they were best at, so… if sex was what he wanted, then sex was what he would get. She let the remembered looks rev her engine up to nearly red-line and then she scooted forward, ready to rock his world. 

Ohhhh… she’d forgotten just how good a kisser he was as she slid one hand between them and started squeezing and stroking him through all the damn cloth that was still in the way. She pulled back to breathe a little… oxygen is important, after all… her hand still rubbing him through his sweats, and his eyes moved down, feeling like they were scorching every bit of her that they passed over. And when they stopped on her crotch and he licked his lips, she knew what he wanted to do now… it had been one of his favorite ways to spend an afternoon and he’d never seemed to tire of it.

XXXX

She kissed him deeply for several minutes, thoroughly exploring his mouth, and he almost forgot the plan when she started to squeeze and stroke his erection… almost forgot that **she** was the one meant to be serviced, not him. When she pulled back to take a few heaving breaths, he looked down her body, again licking his lips when his eyes landed on the spot where that delectable aroma was emanating from.

She smiled up at him and asked, “You want to… taste?” He lifted his eyes and nodded forcefully, letting just the tip of his tongue show between his lips as he sat back down on his feet. She immediately stood up and started to shimmy out of her sweat pants and thong, kicking them off to the side. He leaned forward as soon as the way was clear and slid his cool tongue into her moist folds then flicked it quickly across her engorged nub. She squeaked and her hands landed on his head, her fingertips pressing into his scalp as she ground down against his mouth.

XXXX

Buffy had forgotten just how wickedly talented Spike’s tongue was – strong yet supple – as it sent bolts of fire shooting through her veins, scorching her with bliss. She rocked her hips furiously as he skillfully worked her with tongue, teeth, and lips, and her cries of pleasure were getting steadily louder the closer she got to orgasm, nearer to falling off the edge of rapture.

“God, Spike! Yes… yes… so good! Spike… yesssssss! Yesssssss! God, yes!”

XXXX

When Buffy finally climaxed, his nose was stimulating her pulsing nub and his tongue was buried deep inside her as she bathed it in her delicious juices. He lapped up every drop he could find as she twitched and gasped and bucked against his eager mouth. Her hot, salty cream flowing over his tongue and down his throat only served to harden his cock even more and her breathless praise warmed him with her pleasure, making her slave feel useful and functional for the first time since he’d stepped out of his shipping crate.

Her twitching and bucking finally slowed and her hands released his head as she stepped back and sat heavily on the couch, panting harshly.

XXXX

Buffy flopped back against the cushion and looked at Spike through half-lidded eyes as she smiled a sated smile, her chest still heaving slightly with exertion. “God, Spike. Wow. I mean… wow.” Her eyes trailed down his bare chest and landed on the large bulge in his pants – that looked even larger than before, if that was possible. She sat up slightly and hooked her fingers in his waistband, tugging him closer to the couch. He shuffled forward on his knees and when her hand closed on the bulge and started stroking and squeezing him through the soft fabric, his eyes closed and his face became suffused with bliss.

XXXX

She stopped stroking and squeezing and he opened his eyes to see her smiling at him as she said, “Your turn.”

He watched as she fumbled with the knot in the string then slid the sweats down over his hips. His cock caught on the waistband then sprang free, bobbing excitedly as she pushed the sweats all the way down to his knees. She looked up at him as she bent forward slightly and said, “Remember, you can say ‘no’ anytime. It’s your choice. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, so… do you want me to?”

She wanted to use her mouth on him… which was her right as his owner, of course, but… if she brought him to orgasm that way then their proper roles would be reversed again. It was his job to give **her** pleasure, not the other way around… not to mention that it would take time for him to be ready to service her again, and while he was good with his mouth, he was better with his cock. She had asked him, though, instead of commanding him… and she’d stopped touching him in the shower when he’d told her it hurt… so if he said no, then she shouldn’t be upset with him, right? Right. So he’d say no to the blow-job and try to get her to let him use his cock where it would bring her the most pleasure. 

He shook his head then made the pouty face as he cycled his gaze between his cock and the glistening juncture of her thighs. She nodded then leaned back and opened her legs wider. “Okay. You want to just get to the main event, then? Are you totally sure?” 

He nodded and she scooted her bottom toward the edge of the cushion then grasped him and guided him toward her opening. His eyes closed again as he slowly pushed forward, sliding his length into her grasping heat. She was so warm… and so tight. It felt wonderful, her walls slick against him, and he couldn’t help the pleasurable shiver that traveled down his spine at finally being where he fit. There were no oddly shaped protrusions tearing at or bruising his tender flesh, no strange demon secretions burning it, and her sex didn’t bend his cock in ways it wasn’t meant to bend. 

He fit perfectly here, her walls closing on his erection like she had been built to his specifications, pulling him deeper as her supple channel stretched to take him in then molded around his hardness like a silken glove. He hadn’t felt this much pleasure from the simple act of penetration since… well, since the last time he’d been inside Buffy, and he struggled to hold back the release that was poised and ready. He quickly brought up memories of some of his worst punishments and they cooled his ardor considerably… enough that he’d be able to perform his job properly as long as he kept those memories toward the forefront of his mind.

He pushed forward the last little bit, seating himself fully against Buffy’s womb, then he opened his eyes and looked down at her. She was staring at him, her face suffused with pleasure, and he pulled back then slid forward with a hard thrust, angling his pelvis so his pubic bone would contact her swollen nub. Her eyes closing and her mouth opening to form a perfect ‘O’ told him that he had the proper position, so he started up a steady rhythm… pull out, making sure to drag the blunt head of his cock across her g-spot, then slam in hard, stimulating her clit. 

The repetitive motion was playing merry hell with whatever was injured in his abdomen, but his purpose was to perform his job no matter how much pain he was in, so he tried to ignore it. And the pain was helping him to ward off his own pleasure, so it was serving a purpose, he supposed.

After twenty or so thrusts, his memories threw up a suggestion and he started twisting his hips on the down stroke, dragging his pubic bone across her clit instead of just slamming into it. That made him hurt even worse, and made the pain harder to ignore, but if the moans and tossing of her head were any indication, she was enjoying it, so he kept at it.

“Oh, God!” Her hands flew to the backs of her knees and she pulled her legs up and opened them wide. “More, Spike, harder! Please! So good! You feel so good! I missed you… God, Spike, I missed you so much! Please! More!”

He leaned forward just a little, adjusting his thrusts to the new angle of her pelvis, then started pistoning his hips furiously, still performing the little twist at the end. His abdomen felt like there was a red hot poker stuck in it now… and he knew firsthand what that felt like… something must be really wrong in there, but it didn’t matter. He had to keep going, had to show her that he could be what she needed, that he wasn’t rubbish. She grunted every time he slammed into her and her breathing was ragged when she let go of one leg and reached toward him, grabbing at his elbow. 

He’d put his hands behind his back in their usual position without even realizing it, but now she was tugging on his arm, trying to tell him something in breathy little grunts in between his thrusts into her, “Spike… hands… lift… my… butt.”

He brought his hands forward at her order and slid them under her backside then raised her up a little, gripping her flesh tightly as he hooked his thumbs over her hipbones. That gave him better leverage and he bent to the task, leaning forward a little more as he hammered into her. The red hot poker in his abdomen was poking through his back now… and yes, he also knew what it felt like to have a poker rammed all the way through his body… and his thrusts stuttered a little as several searing bolts of agony shot through him. He gritted his teeth and pressed on through the pain. She was close, he could tell. 

Only a dozen or so strokes later, her channel tightened on him like a vise and she screamed out her release, her body convulsing wildly beneath him. He slowed his movements, but still drove deeply into her as he tried to draw out her orgasm as long as he could, keep her flying through the clouds of euphoria.

Finally, her body utterly spent, her convulsing reduced to haphazard electrical pulses and twitches of her muscles, Buffy’s eyes fluttered open and met his. He recognized the dazed expression in her green orbs… he’d seen it many times before. Relief rose up inside him as he watched her lids fall closed again and felt her body relax completely as she passed out, sated and exhausted. He’d done it. He’d completed his objective. He’d shown her just how useful he could be. 

He pulled out of her slowly then lowered her backside gently to the couch and grasped her legs long enough to set her feet back on the floor. He looked over Buffy’s debauched form, taking in her obscenely spread legs, her swollen and glistening sex, and the deeply satisfied smile gracing her face, then he smirked at Uposs. _Let’s see her shower head do that. She’ll definitely want to keep me now._

His hands moved to the small of his back again and he sat back on his feet, his hard and leaking cock smearing Buffy’s juices on his skin as it bobbed against his abdomen, which was throbbing in agony. He took deep breaths to try to manage the pain as he waited for her to wake up so he could continue his service.


	21. Talking

Passion4Spike put the angst wand away for this chapter and just waved her porn wand over it instead. Enjoy!

Service Unit  
Chapter Twenty One – Talking

“Oh… mmmm… that feels good.” Buffy opened her eyes about half way and looked down at the fuzzy brown head that was between her thighs. Spike’s eyes were closed and he had an intense look of concentration… or maybe pain… on his face as his tongue flicked lightly against her then buried itself deep.

Her eyes suddenly slammed all the way open. She sat up and took Spike’s head gently in her hands, pushing him back away from her to sit on his feet so she could look him over. His lips and chin were wet and shiny with her juices, his arms were behind his back… again… and his sweat pants were still pushed down to his knees, but what drew her shocked gaze was his penis. It was hard again… or was it **still** hard? She could see clear fluid leaking from the tip, the whole thing was a darkish red, and his balls were drawn up tight against his body. Had he come? She thought back as best she could, pushing aside the haze of lust that was trying to cloud her thoughts, but no, she didn’t think he had.

He’d given her two amazing orgasms, the second one so intense that she’d passed out from it, and then he’d apparently just sat there, unsatisfied. Then he’d started tonguing her again before she’d even come back from la-la land… she was already close to another mind blowing orgasm… and he hadn’t even come once. And, considering the look on his face, which she now took to be pain instead of concentration, it was hurting him.

“Spike?” He lifted his eyes to hers for the barest instant then re-focused his gaze on her crotch and licked some of her juice off his lip. “Did you… uh… did you come?” He shook his head. “Oh. Why not? I mean… uh… did you want to?” He glanced up at her then shook his head again and Buffy frowned. She reached out and lifted his face to hers using her fingertips under his chin. “It’s okay if you do, you know. I told you, you’re not a slave. You’re allowed to come… to feel good.” 

She dropped her hand and his brow furrowed as he once again focused on her crotch. He looked down at his cock then back to her crotch then lifted his gaze, giving her the pouty face. “You want to have sex again?” He nodded and lifted himself up to his knees, grimacing as he did, then started to shuffle toward her. Buffy laid her hand in the center of his chest, halting his forward progress, then jerked it back like it had been scalded when he looked down at it and frowned. “Oh… No, Spike, I wasn’t commanding you not to ejaculate, I swear. You can. In fact…” She used her fingertips under his chin again and looked into his eyes. “I want you to. I feel like complete crap that you gave me two amazing orgasms and you didn’t even get one. Remember what I said yesterday? I want to make you feel good, too.”

She scooted back then lifted one leg and swung it over his head so she could stand up next to him. She stripped her sweatshirt off and pulled her hair out of its scrunchy then reached down and grasped his left hand, saying quietly as she twined their fingers together, “My turn to make you feel good, Spike.” She turned away from him and took a step, tugging on his hand, “Come on.”

XXXX

He rose to his feet, that red hot poker still lodged in his abdomen, and followed her over to the corner of the living room, taking mincing steps because the sweat pants she’d apparently forgotten about were now pooled around his ankles. When she reached the straight-backed chair she’d been aiming for – an armless, well-cushioned model – she turned around and nodded over her shoulder. “I’m going to do all the work this time, so go ahead and sit down.”

He minced around her then turned and sat on the chair, sinking a little into the soft cushion as he looked up at her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She wasn’t supposed to be doing **any** of the work. That was his job! And it wasn’t supposed to matter if he got off! He was supposed to get her off! As many times and in as many ways as he could manage! Didn’t she understand? Didn’t she know how wrong this was? Didn’t she know that if he didn’t show her how useful he could be that… that…

His thoughts were shattered as Buffy straddled him and began slowly sinking down onto his throbbing erection. His eyes rolled back in his head as her heat enveloped him, inch by tantalizing inch. Her tight channel was so hot he thought she would surely ignite his undead flesh and reduce him to a pile of dust. Perhaps the only thing preventing that was the slick wetness that coated his sensitive flesh in her sweet Slayer juices. He wanted to immediately be buried to the hilt in her and also wanted her to never stop the slow, deliciously torturous decent… either option would be the closest he’d ever get to heaven.

He gasped when her hips settled against his and the head of his cock pressed against her smooth, firm cervix. Her supple walls molded to his length and girth as if made for him and him alone. He could feel her muscles working, feel every small ridge and bump inside her, feel her slick heat coating him completely, smell her arousal and the sweat beading on her skin, hear her pulse pounding in her veins. All of it was overwhelming his senses and was nearly his undoing. He began flexing his stomach muscles to ramp up the pain in his abdomen – because his brain wasn’t working at peak capacity just now and he was unable to pull up any punishment memories – but he was still swimming in an ocean of pleasure as she lifted off him and sank back down just as slowly as she had the first time, granting both his wishes of being buried deep inside her _and_ having her perpetually sliding down his cock, taking him gently into her silken depths. His eyes rolled so far back in his head that he could almost see his brain. _Bloody fucking hell._

Buffy gripped the back of the chair and leaned close, her hot breasts rubbing against his cool chest as she captured his mouth in a deep kiss. Her nipples were taught and eager and he was sure his skin would be branded with their travels when she pulled back. The idea of her marking him with her body sent a shiver of desire down his spine. He would gladly wear any mark she left on him if she would simply never stop doing what she was doing right this moment.

Her tongue delved into his mouth and tangled with his in a silent dance. Their lips sucked and devoured, tasting, teasing… their teeth nibbling and nipping at each other. He’d nearly forgotten what it was like to have a woman kiss him with such passion, such ardor. He’d forgotten how it felt to have a soft, pliable tongue exploring his mouth, to have sweet lips to taste.

His eyes popped open when Buffy suddenly pulled back from the kiss, a small squeal slipping from her lips as her hand came up to touch her mouth. She pulled her fingers away and Spike though he would die in that moment… **wished** he would die. Blood. On her lips and on her fingers. He’d bitten her… he’d hurt his owner. He swallowed hard, his eyes growing wide with fear and self-loathing. She’d been nothing but nice to him… gentle, patient… and he’d hurt her! Bit her! What the fucking hell was wrong with him!?

Before he could berate himself any further, her lips were on his again; her hands holding his face ardently, kissing him even more eagerly than she had a moment before. He could taste her blood… oh, God, could he taste her blood. Warm and powerful… the blood of a Slayer. It was only a few drops, but it seemed to coat his tongue and infuse his blood with fire. His body seemed to respond of its own will to her feverish kiss, returning it just as eagerly, the worry and fear swept aside by her passion.

Buffy began to rock her hips against him, moving faster now, more urgently. She moved faster and faster as she slid her hands down from his face, over his shoulders, then down his arms to grasp his hands, lifting them up and settling them on her ass. Her hands found the back of the chair again and she used it to brace herself as she continued to ride him, gasping and moaning her pleasure against his lips. 

He was going to come… there was no way to prevent it… not when her channel was clenching around him like it was, and not when her lips were on his neck, her teeth nipping at his skin… and surely not when she moaned into his ear, “Come, Spike, please, baby… come with me. Need to feel you burst inside me, fill me up. Please, Spike, come… come with me.”

Fireworks exploded behind his eyes as he thrust hard up into her, his fingers tightening on her firm, little rump, the pain in his abdomen completely forgotten. She threw her head back and screamed, her hair tumbling around her shoulders like spun gold, her channel milking him in pulsating waves. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. She was heaven… and she’d taken him inside. He couldn’t have stopped his eruption then for all the gold in King Solomon’s mines… training or no training… and he had no desire to try. 

With a silent gasp of rapturous bliss, he exploded, shooting jet after jet of his seed deep into her as his orgasm lit every cell in his body on fire. His body jerked and his hips thrust into her desperately as his spunk boiled up from his balls in volley after volley of ecstasy, filling her tight channel with his cool essence. His gaze met hers for the briefest of moments before his eyes rolled back in his head once more and the world fell away in a swirl of golden tresses and green eyes.

He woke to Buffy nibbling on his neck as she rubbed her hands up and down his arms, which had fallen to his sides and were just hanging there feeling mostly numb. His cock was still buried inside her and he twitched with pleasurable aftershocks when she flexed her muscles around him. She sat back and he twitched again at the change in angle, his eyes drifting closed with the pleasure.

When he opened them, Buffy was smiling at him. “Everything’s changed now, Spike. It’s just us… you and me. Not owner and slave… Buffy and Spike. I wanted to make you feel good, so… how’d I do? Do you feel good?”

He nodded dreamily, his head still floating through puffy, white clouds of rapture, and Buffy’s smile widened into a grin. “Then I’d call that ‘mission accomplished!’ I don’t know about you, but mission accomplishing always makes me hungry. I’m freaking starving!”

XX  
XXXX  
XX

He shook his head when she asked if he wanted blood… she still needed more time before she could safely give him any, especially considering her recent exertions… and she carefully climbed off him, causing both of them to shudder with another aftershock of pleasure as he slid out of her. She gripped the back of the chair as she swayed slightly then bent down and kissed him until she was breathless before gathering up her clothes and walking unsteadily… sort of limping, really… into the kitchen. She called out to him that she was going to make herself something to eat and that he could get dressed when he felt up to moving.

He sat there, his entire body either tingling or numb, as he listened to her move around in the kitchen. After several minutes, when he felt like his legs would hold him when he stood up, he did so, pulling his sweat pants up as he did. He breathed through the sharp pain from his abdomen as he pulled the string and tied it in a knot. Then he walked over to his shirt as he tried to remember the last time he’d come that hard. He bent down and picked up the shirt as he shook his head. _I don’t think I ever **have** come that hard. _

Buffy suddenly called out, “My legs are kind of starting to work right again. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

He looked over at the kitchen doorway and his face melted into a proud, somewhat smug smile. _I’ve apparently still got it._ He pulled the shirt over his head then pressed a hand to his low belly as another bolt of pain flared there. A bolt of shock followed the bolt of pain when he realized what he’d just done. He looked down at his hand. It was still pressed against his belly… and he hadn’t had to fight Uposs to do it. He’d gotten up, walked across the room, picked up his shirt, put it on, and was standing there touching his stomach… all without any input from Uposs. In fact, Uposs was being suspiciously silent. 

He dropped his hand from his belly as he closed his eyes and called on his demon… and there… way in the back of his mind, he felt _something_. It was quite a bit stronger than it had been the previous few times he’d tried – he could actually tell that it was his demon now – but it still wasn’t strong enough to come all the way forward. It gave him hope, though, that his demon wasn’t gone for good, and if he kept at it, he’d be able to call it back.

He opened his eyes, worried about what had happened to Uposs… not that he’d be unhappy if the twat had just decided to bugger off, but that was highly unlikely, considering how deeply its roots were sunken into his psyche. One stunningly amazing orgasm wasn’t going to be enough to eradicate that pest, he knew that… but its absence was… disconcerting. He felt a little… rudderless… discombobulated… without its constant reminders of what the rules were – what he should and shouldn’t be doing – but at the same time he felt… more put together. He was feeling… more like Spike.

Buffy stepped into the living room carrying a plate in one hand that was piled high with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a cut-up pear, and a pile of corn chips. She carried a glass of milk in her other hand as she made her way over to the small loveseat and sat down. She nodded at the place next to her and said, “Please come and sit down, Spike.”

He walked over to her and sat down as she set her glass of milk on the table at her end of the loveseat. She turned to face him, tucking one leg underneath her, and let her knee brush his as she balanced her plate on her thigh. “Okay. Uh… I’m kind of surprised that my brain is even working at the moment… and thank you for that – it was **wow** … but I had something to tell you before we got… distracted… and telling you probably would have made the uh… distraction… go a little smoother… not that it wasn’t amazing the way it was, but… oh crap. See? Brain not fully operational yet. Okay, I’ll just stop babbling and tell you.” She reached out and gripped his left hand. “You can talk, Spike. I made your trainer take that stone out of your throat.” 

Spike blinked at her and his right hand twitched where he’d laid it on his thigh. He started to raise it and Buffy nodded towards his neck. “Go ahead, Spike. It’s your body and you can touch it if you want to.”

He continued to lift his right hand and pressed his fingertips against his Adam’s apple, being careful to keep them from touching his silken collar – because Uposs suddenly popped up like a blasted Jack-in-the-Box and reminded him that it wasn’t allowed, the bloody tosser – then he swallowed and looked over at Buffy.

She asked quietly, “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

He slid his fingers lightly over his throat as the memory of his voice being taken played through his mind, then he mouthed the words, “Didn’t hurt.” 

“Try to say it out loud. You can.”

He nodded slightly and swallowed again. He lowered his hand from his throat then screwed up his face in concentration and took a breath. His throat muscles worked and his mouth opened, but no sound emanated from it. He frowned and took another breath then tried again. This time he made a small croaking noise that sounded like someone had squeezed a frog. 

His eyes widened and he looked over at Buffy. She smiled and said, “See? You can make noise. Try again.”

He swallowed hard then took a deep breath and opened his mouth, straining like the noise was something he was trying to give birth to. The half-grunt, half-wheeze sound he managed was louder than the frog-squeezing noise and he took another breath then started coughing, a smile forming even as his eyes watered. When the coughing had subsided, he very deliberately cleared his throat then blinked several times and looked at Buffy again.

She smiled and he cleared his throat again then grimaced as he swallowed. Buffy let go of his hand and turned to set her plate on the table behind her before she bounced up off the loveseat. “I’ll be right back.” She went into the kitchen and Spike listened to her move around. He heard water running then the rattle of a tea kettle being placed on the stove. After the thumps of a couple of cupboard doors closing there was a few minutes of silence that was broken only by the sound of tearing paper. The silence was ended by the shrill whistle from the kettle then the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing. 

Spike started to reacquaint himself with the mechanics of formulating human speech while he waited – breathing, proper positioning of tongue and lips, activating his voice box at the right moment – as he tried to get his mouth and throat to behave as they were meant to after so long being nothing but a receptacle for demon cocks. He didn’t speak loudly, but he did speak, and his voice sounded like his throat was packed full of pea gravel as he named the items that surrounded him in the living room. “Couch, table…” a pause to cough, “chair, telly…” more coughing then two clearings of his throat, “phone, clock…” a long bout of coughing that had him gasping for air, “rug, door.” He coughed some more and cleared his throat several times before lifting his hand to massage his neck with his fingertips. His throat hurt like he’d been screaming at full volume for three days… yes, he knew what that felt like, too… and all he’d done was say a handful of words.

He coughed again, grimaced in pain, then cleared his throat and swallowed, looking up as Buffy walked back into the living room. She was carrying a tray that had two steaming mugs, a small pitcher of milk, a plastic bear-shaped bottle of honey, and a pile of sugar packets sitting on it. She set the tray on the table on his end of the loveseat then nodded at the mugs. “It’s from a tea bag, sorry, but I still haven’t figured out how to make ‘proper’ English tea. Giles keeps trying to explain it to me and I keep getting it wrong, but if you add enough milk and sugar, it tastes okay. And the honey should help your throat.”

She picked up the plastic bear and squirted a sizeable dollop of honey into the larger mug. She lifted the little pitcher of milk and asked, “Do you want milk?” He shook his head and she set the little pitcher back down then pointed at the sugar. “Sugar?” He shook his head again and she stirred the honey into the tea then picked up the mug and handed it to him. 

He took careful sips, mindful of the temperature, and felt the heat and honey start to soothe his sore throat. She sat down beside him after doctoring her own mug of tea with milk and sugar and they sat in silence as they drank their tea and Buffy ate her food and drank her milk.

When the mugs were empty and once again sitting on the tray, Buffy resumed her earlier position facing him on the loveseat then smiled and said, “Okay… you were saying?”

XXXX

Spike looked a little scared, so Buffy nodded at him in encouragement and he swallowed then took another breath. She nearly started weeping when his voice, raspy and hoarse from disuse and all the coughing, sounded from his throat, “It didn’t hurt.”

She reached out and grasped his hand, holding it tightly in hers. “That’s because I threatened that sadistic little creep with severe bodily damage if he hurt you, and once I thought about what he had to do to remove the stone, I figured out why you hadn’t started talking. Installing the stone hurt a lot, didn’t it?” Spike nodded. “So since it didn’t hurt when it was removed, you didn’t think you could talk because there wasn’t any pain in your throat.” 

Spike nodded again and she could see a sheen of tears glimmering in his eyes. He blinked quickly and looked down, breathing slowly for a few minutes while she stroked her thumb over his knuckles. Then he seemed to gather himself and raised his eyes to hers, saying the most beautiful… well, the second most beautiful words Buffy had ever heard, “Thank you… Buffy.”


	22. Blood

Sorry for the lateness in posting. I don’t have writer’s block or anything like that (knock on wood), it’s just that real life stepped up and knuckle punched me right in the forehead and I’ve been dealing with some stuff. Posting might be a bit erratic until I get it all sorted, so I hope you’ll bear with me.

Service Unit  
Chapter Twenty Two – Blood

Buffy burst into tears. She couldn’t help it. He’d said her name. She’d been convinced that he didn’t know her as anything other than his owner and now he’d said her name. His face was painted in shades of both guilt and alarm and she squeezed his hand. “I’m fine. It’s just… you know who I am.”

He nodded, then seemed to remember that he could speak, and said quietly, his voice still raspy and rough, “Yes, I know who you are. I remember.” 

Buffy smiled through her tears. “So, does this mean that you’re… back? You’re you? I mean… earlier, with the looks, and the lip, and everything… that was classic Spike, and that’s the first I’ve seen of him since you got here.”

He shook his head, dropping his eyes to his lap as he cleared his throat again. “I remember everything from… before. Events, people… but… there’s something missing. My demon…”

“Your demon isn’t missing; it’s just hiding because those assholes kept removing your fangs.”

Spike’s eyes closed and he mouthed a few words that Buffy couldn’t make out then he brought his right hand up to his mouth, slipping his index finger under his top lip to rub at his gums. His hand lowered and thumped onto his leg and he whispered, “Remember that, too.”

Buffy squeezed the hand she was still holding. “Your trainer said your fangs would be fully re-grown in about a month. Did you feel them just now? Are they there?”

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I think so. Won’t know for sure until I change… I tried to earlier, but…”

“Nothing happened.” Spike nodded dejectedly and Buffy squeezed his hand again. “I’ve been giving you my blood, and if I keep doing that, your demon might come out.” 

Spike opened his eyes and gazed intently at her, all the ramifications of freely-given Slayer blood suddenly tumbling through his mind in a jumbled clump. He took a moment to sort through it, and when he had, his gaze became even more intent. There were only a few Slayers in the vampire lore he’d been taught, not even a dozen, that had been documented as freely giving their blood to a vampire. But not just any vampire. Yes, a Slayer could give her blood once or twice to a random vampire and the end result would be a slightly anemic Slayer and a well fed vampire, but when there was a bond of some sort between the pair – usually romantic love, but there had been one documented case of siblings – and the blood was given several times, then the freely-given blood would bind them together. The vampire would be unable to exist for very long without regular doses of Slayer blood, and if the vampire dusted, the Slayer would die shortly thereafter, usually by her own hand.

In almost every instance, either the vampire’s sire had dusted the vampire or the Council had killed the Slayer, leaving one of the pair to die a painful and lonely death. One pair had been captured by the Council and had been imprisoned at separate ends of the country to investigate the strength of the blood bond. After only six weeks, the vampire had managed to dust himself by clawing out his own heart, and the Slayer, after feeling her vampire dust from hundreds of miles away, had beaten her head against the bars of her cell until she’d caved in her skull. 

Only one pair had managed to escape judgment by either side, and they’d only managed it by disappearing altogether. They’d stayed hidden – foiling every attempt by the Council and the vampire’s clan to locate them magically or by other means – and the world had been without an active Slayer for some fifty years, leading to a dramatic increase in the European vampire population during the Late Middle Ages. A little know fact – to humans, anyway – was that a fair number of people thought to have been killed by the Black Death had, in fact, been killed by the influx of vampires.

Spike continued to gaze intently at Buffy, trying to absorb the importance of what she’d done. Did she even realize what she’d done? Surely she’d been educated on the effects of her blood on a vampire, not just as a healing agent and aphrodisiac, but the effects of giving her blood several times to a vampire she loved. And he now knew without a doubt that she did love him – now that he was concentrating on it, he could feel the beginnings of the ties that would irrevocably bind him to her if she kept giving him her blood – but did she have any clue what she’d almost signed herself up for? If she stopped feeding him now, the ties would fade – causing him more than a little pain as they did – but she’d be fine. But if she kept feeding him and the ties locked in, then did she have any idea that he would need to feed from her regularly or he’d go crazy and try to dust himself? 

Only one way to find that out, he supposed. He’d have to ask her. She’d been sitting quietly as he sorted through his thoughts and he tried to lessen the intensity of his gaze just a bit. He didn’t want to scare her, but he had to make her understand what she’d done. He rasped out, “I know you’ve been giving me your blood. Just don’t know why.”

Her face screwed into the patented Sunnydale ‘DUH’ look and she said, “Because I love you… duh.” 

He had to cough a few times before he could ask, “And you know what will happen if you keep giving it to me?”

Her brow knitted and her nose wrinkled up in that way he’d always found to be completely adorable. “You’ll get fat? Do I have fat blood?”

Spike burst out laughing at that. It was so Buffy. He laughed and guffawed and chuckled and chortled for a good five minutes, and by the time he’d stopped, his throat was on fire and tears of mirth were streaming down his face, but he felt wonderful. He hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time, since before Drusilla had been attacked in Prague, and it felt good.

Buffy watched him laugh with wide eyes for a few seconds and then she joined in, even though she still had tears on her face from her impromptu cloud burst a few minutes ago. Yeah, he was laughing AT her, but she didn’t care one little bit because **he was laughing!** She’d never seen him laugh like this, with such freedom and abandon. It made him beautiful. Of course, he’d always been beautiful, but now… he was transformed… so beatific that it almost hurt her eyes to look at him.

And while she didn’t like to be laughed at – who did? – for Spike she’d gladly put a rubber glove on her head and run naked through the Vatican yelling, “Hi! I’m a squid!” if it would get him to laugh like this again. 

The chuckles and titters from both of them slowly tapered off and they just sat smiling at each other for a few long minutes until Buffy asked, “So, if my blood won’t make you fat, then what will it do?”

Spike started to speak, but all the laughing and the coughing and the fact that he hadn’t used his voice at all for years made his words come out as a rough whisper, “Your Watcher didn’t tell you about blood bonds?”

“No, he didn’t.” Buffy stood and picked up the tray. “And you won’t be able to tell me about them with your voice like that. Let me make you some more tea.”

Spike watched her walk into the kitchen and listened to her move around as he tried to order his thoughts, to find the best, most succinct way of explaining it to her. It would take time for his voice to recover and he didn’t want to tax it unnecessarily before he was healed, but he had to make her aware of what her choice meant… and find out if she wanted them to be bound together for the rest of her life. His fingers drifted up to touch the skin below his collar and he closed his eyes. The collar she’d put on him was enough to keep him with her, especially if his demon remained MIA, so if she decided to forego the blood bond… he grimaced and dropped his hand. 

Yes, the collar would keep him here whether he wanted to be here or not – he couldn’t force himself to get up and walk out of her life any more than he could flap his arms and fly to the moon – but… **she** could still make him go… get rid of him. She could take back her collar and toss him right out on his arse anytime she wanted to and there wouldn’t be anything he could do about it. The collar was a one-sided affair, but the blood bond was a two-way street. The blood bond would keep him from leaving **and** stop her from binning him, but could he do that to her? Let her continue to give him her blood, effectively **forcing** her to keep him around? He shook his head. No, he couldn’t. She loved **Spike** , and he wasn’t Spike… not yet… and until he was, if that ever happened, he couldn’t let her tie herself to him… not the way he was now. So he’d have to stop drinking her blood.

And there was the rub. He couldn’t refuse. If she ordered him to drink it, he would, and it would only take a few more servings – maybe as few as two or three – before the bond would be permanent and she’d be stuck with him. And if he never got his demon back… if he never became ‘Spike’ again, then she’d be stuck with a useless lump of slave that was good for nothing but supplying orgasms. He wouldn’t be able to back her up in a fight, he wouldn’t be able to help her save the world during the next apocalypse… and he’d be in the way if she ever fell in love with someone else. He’d be nothing but a dependent leech, feeding from her like a babe on its mother’s teat. 

The thought of Buffy sharing her life and her bed with another man stabbed into his heart and twisted, skewering the shriveled organ on a sharp sliver of pain. A scenario of what his life would be like when Buffy finally got tired of him and went looking for the type of man she needed… the type of man she deserved… suddenly played through his mind like a horror film. Buffy wouldn’t be able to just dust him and be done with it because of the blood bond, so she’d keep him in a closet, out of sight and out of mind until it was time to feed him. He’d be the useless little slave, bound and gagged as he knelt in the dark, his one purpose… his only reason for existing… taken away. He’d have to listen to Buffy and some faceless male shagging like bunnies, taunting him with their sounds of pleasure and satisfaction while he knelt, silent and weeping in his pitch-black cell.

Buffy walked back into the living room, thankfully startling him out of his dark and disturbing thoughts, and set the tray down on the table. Instead of just two mugs, she’d brought the entire tea kettle, swaddled in a blue tea cozy that had embroidered black and white cows all over it. She squirted a generous dollop of honey into his mug then poured steaming tea into it, stirred it, and handed it to him. “Here. Drink this and try not to talk too much right now. I’m sure that explaining whatever my blood does will take a while and it can wait until your throat is better, okay?”

Spike nodded and took the cup, sipping at the hot tea. Okay, she didn’t want to delve into blood bonds just now, which would be fine as long as she kept _asking_ him if he wanted blood, allowing him the chance to say no. But if she just handed him a mug and told him to drink it like she had with the tea… He had to get his blasted demon back. That would put an end to all this slavery shit. Once his demon returned, he’d be able… hopefully… to send Uposs packing and be the man that Buffy wanted. The man he’d been all those years ago before he’d been broken. The man she loved. And he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his existence kneeling in a dark closet while Buffy lived and laughed and loved with someone else.

An unstoppable shiver traveled down his spine as the question of how she looked exactly the same after all this time suddenly popped into his head, bringing with it all the other questions he’d been unable to satisfactorily answer. He’d been gone for years and she hadn’t looked for him. But she loved him… well, loved Spike, anyway… he knew that, could feel it in the beginnings of the blood bond, so… why wouldn’t she try to find him? Why would she just leave him there? He frowned at his tea cup as he lowered it and cradled it gently in his hands, resting them in his lap. 

Buffy noticed his frown and asked quietly, “What is it, Spike? Is something wrong with the tea? Do you want a cough drop or something instead? I think I have some.” He looked over at her and shook his head and she could see the question in his eyes. “Do you want to ask me something? You can if you want. You can ask me anything.”

Spike cleared his somewhat soothed throat and his still hoarse voice was full of despair when he said, “You didn’t look for me. You left me there.”

Buffy recoiled like she’d been slapped. “Spike, no… I didn’t leave… I wouldn’t do that. If I’d known… Angel told me last week that you were in the infirmary, recovering from getting your hands cut off.”

Spike’s eyes widened and he blurted out, “Last week? But it’s been years…” then he started coughing, his tea sloshing over the edge of his cup to soak his sweat pants. He hissed loudly at the pain, but thankfully the hot liquid had landed on his leg instead of more delicate areas – missing his balls by the barest of margins – and yes, he knew what it felt like to have boiling liquid poured over his balls. 

Buffy jumped up, heading for the kitchen, and came back less than thirty seconds later carrying a tube of burn gel and a damp dish cloth. She took the mug out of his hand and plopped it down onto the tray. “Get out of those and I’ll treat the burn.”

Spike immediately stood up and the injury to his abdomen once again reminded him of its presence, but he was able to suppress the wince. He untied the knot in the string then slipped the pants down over his hips. Buffy squatted down beside him and took over once the waistband had made it to mid-thigh, sliding them the rest of the way down. “Sit back down.” He did and she lifted each foot, slipping the pants off him completely. She tossed them aside then knelt in front of him and picked up the dish cloth from the arm of the couch, laying it gently over the reddened skin on his upper thigh.

He just watched as she lightly patted the cloth then lifted it and used a corner to wipe up a few dribbles of tea. “It’s not too bad. At least you’re not blistering.” She opened the tube of burn gel and squirted a healthy dollop onto her index finger then dabbed it gently over the burn, coating every bit of skin that was even slightly darker than his normal alabaster shade.

The gel felt good, cool and soothing, and Spike sighed, “Thank you, Buffy,” then his eyes opened wide. Uposs hadn’t made a peep. Not one. It hadn’t said anything at all about sitting there while his owner treated his wound – something she shouldn’t have even concerned herself with. In fact, Uposs hadn’t been heard from since it had reminded him not to touch his collar. Was it gone? Or was it just being quiet because he hadn’t attempted to do anything that she hadn’t given permission for or ordered him to do? 

A test then. He lifted his hand off his leg as he said in his head, “I’m going to touch my collar,” then he jumped in surprise when Uposs practically shrieked at him that it wasn’t allowed. Spike lowered his hand with a tired sigh. So… not gone then. Bugger.

XX  
XXXX  
XX

Liam felt it when the sun dropped below the horizon and he stood up, picking up his bag as he did. Nightfall. Finally. He’d been sitting on the tarmac for nearly seven hours while he waited for it to get dark. Yes, he could’ve called the Rome office of Wolfram and Hart and they would’ve sent a car with Necro-tinted windows to pick him up and take him wherever he wanted to go, but he didn’t want that branch of the firm involved in this.

This was personal.

He hefted the strap of the heavy bag a little higher on his shoulder and headed out the door. The pilot closed it behind him then went back to the cockpit to make arrangements for the return trip. The plane would be fueled and ready when he returned with his _traveling companion_ , and he smiled as he strode quickly toward the terminal. At least the wait had given him time to come up with the cover story he was going to use to convince Buffy that he meant no harm to either her or Spike. Of course, he did mean them harm… well… to Spike, anyway… but he’d never be able to leave with his toy if he couldn’t talk his way past Buffy.

Liam stepped into the terminal building and made his way through the throngs of passengers standing around in clumps as they waited for their bags. He felt good… like he had just before he’d found Drusilla. A thought struck him and he stopped suddenly right in front of the exit doors, the woman behind him bumping into his back. He turned and snarled at her, his eyes flashing amber for just a second, and she mumbled a hurried apology and scurried away, clutching her purse tightly to her chest.

The thought hadn’t been squashed by the woman’s clumsiness and it brought a grin to his face. **He** was finally in control of his mind, his body, and his future. It had taken over 120 years after he’d been turned to win the fight for control over the demon, but he’d successfully harnessed it. He’d kept using the name ‘Angelus’ because it was a name feared the world over and to change it would have meant building his reputation from scratch. Subjugating the demon’s power and knowledge for his own use meant that he’d finally been able to fulfill all the dark desires he’d had as a human – desires that he hadn’t had the ambition or intestinal fortitude to attempt while his heart had still been beating – and Drusilla and William… not to mention countless innocents… had enjoyed his ‘attentions.’

As a human, he’d been a lazy, pathetic souse… spending all his time drinking and bedding any wench that showed him the slightest interest… and more than a few who hadn’t shown him any interest at all. The most evil thing he’d done while he’d still been living – to his mind, anyway – had been arranging to have his family’s servant girl dismissed for stealing then threatened with imprisonment if she ever spoke to anyone about the family. She hadn’t stolen a thing, but Liam had needed her gone because his forced use of her had filled her belly with his child, and if his father had found out, he’d have been the one kicked out of the house. He’d ended up being kicked out a few months later anyway, and after he’d been turned, he’d found the hovel she was living in and had ripped the nearly full-term infant from her womb, sinking his fangs into the bloody squirming thing while she watched, her screams ringing in his ears.

But now things were back to normal – like they had been before those Gypsies had cursed him with the soul of his infant daughter. Cursing him with his own soul wouldn’t have even been a punishment, considering how tarnished his soul had been, but the cage of a pure, innocent soul had driven his demon mad – mad enough to try to end the world when that moment of pure happiness had broken it free a few years ago. His daughter’s soul was still in residence inside him, but now it was suppressed to such a degree that it might as well not be, and the demon was strapped down tight – able to make suggestions and bolster its host’s natural penchant for sadism and mind-fuckery, but not able to push its host aside and run amok like it had in Sunnydale… killing teachers and fish and doing all manner of stupid things that had only served to piss Buffy off enough to run him through with a sword and send him to a hell dimension for a few centuries. What was it the kids said now? Oh yeah… That had totally sucked. But at least it had been the soul and the demon that had borne the torture, leaving Liam alone to formulate plans and mostly be bored until the Powers had intervened.

Sending Spike to fulfill the bargain in his place had been necessary, because he sure as hell hadn’t wanted to spend another decade being bored while the demon and soul were tortured, but shipping a broken and helpless Spike to Buffy had been stupid. Liam would have chosen a different option if he could have, but at the time he hadn’t been in full control yet. He’d been nearly there – he’d already harnessed the demon, but while he’d been busy trying to suppress the soul, the demon had managed to slip free of that harness and had taken over at the most inopportune time… just after the old man had agreed to accept Spike in his place… and the demon had decided that Buffy needed a _gift_ , climbing right back on the Train of Stupidity it had ridden through Sunnydale. 

Of course the demon had chosen a gift that would devastate Buffy completely because she’d either have to dust Spike or send the broken thing away… and either scenario would cause her pain, something the demon enjoyed immensely… hence all the torture porn it had amused itself with while Liam had been busy trying to stuff his daughter’s soul into a teeny, tiny box. He’d finally managed it while the demon had been busy watching – and tossing off to – the images of Spike’s slavery, and then Liam had worked to slip the demon back into its harness while it had been distracted. 

The latest struggle to regain control over the demon had only taken him just over 100 years – if you didn’t count the time spent in other dimensions, which Liam didn’t – and he’d been battling both the soul and a crazy demon, but now Angel was suppressed and Angelus was securely bound. Liam was back! Fully and completely back! 

Liam smiled wickedly as he pushed through the front doors and hailed a taxi. “Daddy’s finally in control again, Little Willy, and you’ve been a naughty boy.” He reached back and patted the bag hanging over his shoulder. “I think we’ll have time for a little punishment before we go home.”


	23. Dope

Service Unit  
Chapter Twenty Three – Dope

Buffy sat back down on the loveseat, wiping the burn gel off her finger with the dish cloth, apparently unconcerned with his half-nakedness. “Okay, where were we? Oh… yeah. Years. You were there for years, and you think I knew that and just left you there. You think I could do that, be that cold… that heartless… to someone I love.”

Spike dropped his gaze to his bare legs, closing his eyes in shame. He’d hurt her, he could hear it in her voice, and she’d still treated his injury, still relieved his pain while she was in pain because of him. He was a complete shit, not worthy of her attention, much less her love. She should just tear off her collar and toss him out before he hurt her any further. She could give him back to his trainer… send him back to where he belonged… where he had some use and wouldn’t be a bother…

Buffy reached out and took his hand in hers, downshifting his self-loathing before it could get up to cruising speed, then said quietly, “Spike, look at me, please.”

He forced his eyes open and fixed them on her face, expecting to see disappointment or maybe anger, but her expression was loving and a small, slightly sad smile curved her mouth. “You’re a dope, Spike.” At his frown she squeezed his hand. “Although I can see why you would think what you do. You were there a long time, and nobody came riding to the rescue, so you probably thought I’d abandoned you, right?” Spike nodded sadly. “Well, I didn’t. I didn’t even know you were gone. The demon Angel gave you to took you to a different dimension and the time there was…”

Spike’s eyes widened in sudden understanding and he spoke, making sure to whisper so he wouldn’t start coughing, “Longer. Like when you were… dead. **That’s** why you don’t look any different. How long was I…”

“Twenty-three years.”

Spike swallowed hard and whispered, “Twenty-three years.”

Buffy whispered, “Yeah.”

“Feels longer than that. A lot longer.”

“Yeah.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, Buffy rubbing her thumb across the back of Spike’s hand. He cleared his throat and grimaced again and she stood up. “Let me go find those cough drops. I think they’re in the bathroom.”

He didn’t practice speaking while she was gone this time; he just sat, staring at his knees as he thought about what she’d just told him. Twenty-three years. He’d been a sex slave for twenty three years. A service unit. Was still one, actually. And it was because of Angel. _He GAVE me to a demon? GAVE ME?! Why? What’d I ever do to him?_ He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, letting it rest on the back of the loveseat as some of the more annoying things he’d done to Angel over the years paraded through his mind. _So, he gave me up to demon slavers because I was insolent as a fledge? Because I went against him during the Acathla debacle? Because I kept following him around when I was all ghostly? Because I beat him to the Cup of Perpetual Torment, otherwise known as Mountain Dew? All of those things are small potatoes in the grand scheme of things, so what did I do to him that was bad enough to warrant giving me into slavery?_

He thought back to the last memory he had of his life before he’d woken in the slave compound. He’d been lying in a hospital bed at Wolfram and Hart and Angel had come into his room followed by some old man. Angel hadn’t seemed to be angry or upset when he’d said that Buffy knew he was back and wanted to see him, and then… He couldn’t remember anything after that. His eyes popped open and he lifted his head off the loveseat. _Buffy. That right bastard. He gave me up to keep me away from Buffy. That old man must have been the demon owner of the slave compound._ He looked toward the bathroom door where he could hear Buffy rummaging around in the medicine cabinet. _So how’d I end up here, then? WITH Buffy?_

Buffy came back into the living room with a bag of cough drops. She dug one out of the bag then unwrapped it and handed it to him. “Here. I’ll make you another cup of tea, too. Maybe both of them together will help.” 

He took the cough drop and popped it into his mouth then watched as she carried his half-empty mug into the kitchen and dumped out the cooled tea. She came back, doctored his tea then hers, and they sat quietly again while they drank it. When Spike moved to set his empty mug on the tray, he flinched, a pained gasp issuing from between his lips. Buffy looked at him with concern, “What’s wrong? What hurts? Is it the burn?”

He leaned back against the seat and said in a whisper, “Not the burn. Something in here,” he motioned toward his low belly, “is ruptured or torn and hasn’t quite healed yet, but I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

Buffy leaned across him and deposited her mug on the tray then stood up. “I know you have.” She held out her hand. “You need to rest so you’ll heal. Come on.” He lifted his hand and laid it in hers and she pulled him to his feet then led him to the bedroom. She helped him out of his t-shirt then disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a wet wash cloth. She quickly wiped off the partially dried secretions that coated his belly and balls; carefully avoiding the burn gel on his thigh, then she wrapped the cloth around his flaccid cock and wiped once.

She looked him over then shrugged. “You’re not completely clean, but it’ll do for now. If I wipe you any more you’ll get hard and I don’t want to leave you like that. You need to rest, and to do that you need to be comfortable.” 

She tossed the wash cloth into the hamper then maneuvered him into bed. As she was tucking the covers around him, she asked quietly, “You were in pain the whole time we were having sex, weren’t you?” He dipped his head in a shamed nod and she sat down next to him then leaned over, pressing her forehead against his. “You’re such a dope.” She kissed him gently then whispered against his lips, “But I love you anyway. Get some sleep. I’ll come check on you in a while.” She sat up and started to stand, but stopped the movement when he reached for her hand and grasped it tightly. She looked down at her hand then up to his face. “Spike? What is it?”

Spike cleared his throat and said in a voice barely above a whisper, “How do you know I’ve had worse?”

She nudged him over just a little then brought her legs up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged next to his hip. His hand was still holding hers and she lifted it and laid it in her lap. “I read your records.”

Spike looked at her sharply, his voice just a little louder, “My records? What records?”

“Your trainer kept notes on your training, punishments, and service in a big binder. They’re really detailed and there’s even pictures, so I know what you’ve…”

Spike’s voice deserted him and he mouthed, “You know it all? You’ve seen?” as a look of deep mortification settled onto his face. 

He turned his head away and Buffy squeezed his hand. “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of, Spike. Look at me, please.” He turned back to face her and glanced quickly at her eyes then lowered his gaze, focusing on her chin instead. “You don’t. In fact, you should be proud of yourself. You’re so strong, you’ve been through so much, so many horrible things, and you’re… well, not fine… not completely, but you will be, eventually. You’re strong enough to get through this, Spike, I know you are. You’ve made it this far without going completely bonkers, so I know you can do it.”

Spike closed his eyes, turning his head again as he whispered, “You know it all. You know what they did… what I did.” Those thoughts he’d hoped would wither and die suddenly dropped on him like a ton of bricks, crushing him under their weight. He was filthy… a filthy, disgusting, vile creature. He was defiling her bed with his filth… again. And he was defiling **her** with his touch. She shouldn’t be touching his disgusting skin… shouldn’t be exposed to his filth. It took nearly every scrap of determination he possessed to do it, but he pulled his hand out of hers and slid a few inches across the bed away from her, whispering desperately, “I… You shouldn’t have to touch me… You… I’m disgusting… filthy… The things I’ve done…”

Buffy laid her hand lightly on his forearm. “You’re not disgusting or filthy, Spike, and I have no problem touching you. You were forced to do those things, and I don’t think any less of you because you did. You adapted, just like you always do, and in fact, I think **more** of you because you got through it. You survived.”

He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her, self-loathing evident in every line of his features, and his voice cracked as he said, “I didn’t adapt, Buffy, they broke me. I wasn’t strong enough to last more than a few months. And I’ve spent years doing every degrading, abominable, and horrific thing I was ordered to do, not fighting back at all. I’m weak and useless and not fit to be in your company.”

“A year and a half, Spike.”

“What?”

“It was a year and a half before you broke. EIGHTEEN months, not just a few.” A small sob issued from her throat. “You fought through eighteen months of constant torture and r..rape…” She lifted her hand to her mouth to trap another sob, her eyes locked on his. “Do you have any idea how strong you are? Any idea at all?”

He shook his head and looked away from her again, his hand moving to touch the skin just under the silk collar he still wore. “I’m not. I… You OWN me, Buffy. I’m your toy… your slave… and the training is screaming at me to kneel at your feet where I belong… to stop defiling your bed with my filth. I can’t even touch the collar you put on me because I’ve not been given permission to do so. I’m trying to fight it, but…” He twitched then dropped his hand back to the bed, clenching them both into fists. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat again, his voice getting raspier the more he spoke. “If you tapped me right now or told me to do something, no matter what it was, I’d follow the order immediately… I’m not strong.”

Buffy spoke sharply and Spike flinched at her tone. “You ARE. Look at yourself. God, Spike! You were there for twenty-three years and look at you! Anybody else would have been completely insane after all you’ve been through. And you’re not! You’re thinking and you’re talking in complete sentences and you make sense. And you’re still in bed! You’re still fighting! And you’re winning!”

Spike turned his head slightly back toward her then closed his eyes, his voice breaking. “It’s so h..hard. Every minute is a struggle. I even have to fight the training to be able to tell you that.” He looked up at her in desperation. “Is it always going to be like this, Buffy? Is it? Because I don’t think I…”

Buffy cut him off. “Spike, you can. You’ve only been here a day. One day. And look how much you’ve progressed in that one day. I know it’s hard. I know that, but it will get easier. You just have to keep fighting.” She reached out and grasped his hand again, pulling it into her lap. “I know the training makes you think you need an owner, and I’ll be that for you until you don’t need one anymore, but I’m going to try not to command you… unless you need me to. All right?”

Spike nodded miserably, but didn’t try to pull his hand from her grasp. “I’ll try, Buffy.”

“Good. Now, I need to ask you something and I want you to be completely honest.” 

He glanced up at her then dropped his gaze back down. “Yes?”

“Did we have sex because you wanted to… wanted me, or did we have sex because you think you have to ‘service’ me?” The look on his face told her the answer. He’d serviced her. She sighed deeply and he looked up at her, guilt and shame turning his features dark and stormy. “Spike, you don’t have to do that. If you want to get groiny, then I’m all for it, but I want it to be because you **want** to, not because you think you **have** to. That’s not why you’re here.”

Spike’s voice was a rough, desperate whisper as he turned his face away, “But if I don’t… if I can’t be useful to you then you won’t keep me… and that’s all I know how to do now. All I’m good for. I’m not Spike anymore… I’m your toy… and people don’t keep toys they aren’t playing with… especially useless broken ones.”

Buffy squeezed his hand. Hard. “Look at me.” He immediately turned his head, focusing his gaze once again on her chin, and she said quietly, “Up here, Spike.” He raised his eyes to hers and nearly flinched at the fire he saw in them as she said, “I want you to listen to me very carefully. You. Are. **Not**. My. Toy. And you aren’t useless or broken! You’re the man I love, and sex isn’t your payment for staying here with me. I **want** you here, and even if we never have sex again, I’ll **still** want you here. I love you, you dope. And we’ll get your demon back, either through my blood or through the ritual, but we’ll get it back, and then you’ll have it to help you fight the train…” She stopped when Spike’s eyes widened and asked, “What?”

“What ritual?”

Buffy smiled. “Oh, yeah, guess I kind of forgot to tell you about my plan. Let me go grab the cough drops and I will.” She stood up and straightened the blankets, saying over her shoulder as she walked toward door. “Think back to when you first came to Sunnydale.”


	24. Prophecy

Service Unit  
Chapter Twenty Four – Prophecy

“So… he’s coming here. Angel.”

Buffy nodded. “After that call I made, I don’t see how he couldn’t, but if he doesn’t, then we’ll go there… when you’re ready. One way or another, he’s going to answer for what he’s done to you.”

Spike had managed to keep himself from pulling away from her touch, and he’d contributed to the conversation – asking questions and clarifying points – but the struggle against his training was obviously starting to wear on him. He closed his eyes and pressed his head further into the pillow, swallowing against the pain in his overtaxed throat. “Do you know why he did it?”

Buffy shrugged. “Your trainer said something about a bargain. I don’t know all the details, which is surprising, considering how OCD the guy is, but I’m guessing he wasn’t in on it, so that’s why he didn’t record them.”

Spike turned his head and looked at her. “He’s in the guest bedroom, isn’t he? My trainer.”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think I really need his help anymore, since you’re kind of you again, but I don’t really know what to do with him. I don’t want to let him go back to his dimension to keep torturing others, but… what happens there isn’t really my business, is it? It’s not my jurisdiction, really, unless they’ve kidnapped humans from this dimension or something… Have they?”

Spike rocked his head back and forth on the pillow in a negative gesture. “Not that I ever saw. Humans wouldn’t hold up very long over there, too fragile… probably wouldn’t even make it through the training. You have to be a demon to… to…”

Buffy laid her hand on his arm. “You don’t have to say it, Spike, I understand. So I don’t know what to do with him, and… I thought I’d let you decide. If you want him dead, he’s dead. I’ll get my Scythe and go chop his head off right now, unless you want to be the one to do it. And if you want him to suffer even a little bit like you’ve suffered, I’m up for that, too.”

Spike turned his head away, but Buffy caught the look of fear on his face and could hear it in his voice. “I can’t. He’s… I still…”

“You’re afraid of punishment if you go against your trainer.”

Spike nodded. “Yes. Now that you own me he doesn’t have the authority to punish me unless you give him permission to, and I know you wouldn’t do that, but… for so many years…”

“You lived in fear of him. I get that, Spike, and I don’t expect you to just get over it immediately. How about this… I’ll go talk to him and you listen in. Maybe that will help you decide what you want to happen. Like I said, if you want him dead, his chopped up body parts will be in the incinerator before his blood has even dampened the carpet.” Spike nodded miserably and Buffy patted his arm then stood up. “You’ll be able to hear everything from here, won’t you?” He nodded again. “Okay. If you need me to come back in here and don’t want to yell at me, just knock on the wall there.” She indicated the wall behind the headboard. “That will get my attention and I’ll be right here.”

Spike glanced at the wall then nodded. “And I know you’ve been fighting the training; all the twitching and shifting you’ve been doing… It’s been telling you to get out of my bed, hasn’t it?” Spike nodded. “That’s what I thought, so I’m going to command you so you can rest, okay? Spike, I want you to stay right here in bed until I come back. And if you feel like going to sleep then go to sleep.” 

Spike visibly relaxed into the mattress and looked up at her. “Thank you, Buffy.”

“No problem. Anytime you’re getting tired of fighting and need me to tell you to do something, just let me know.” At Spike’s look of shame, she bent down and gently kissed his forehead. “Eventually, you won’t need me to do that anymore, Spike, I know it. You’re strong enough.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyway, and she stood up. “Time to talk to the creepy demon.” She walked briskly out of the room and into the hall, rapping sharply three times on the door before pushing it open. She stepped into the room and crossed her arms over her chest as she glared at the yellow demon perched on the edge of the bed. “I wouldn’t really call myself satisfied, but I don’t think there’s anything else you can help me with.” The trainer nodded and started to rise and Buffy held up her hand. “Uh, hello… did I look like I was done talking?” The trainer shook his head. “Yeah, I didn’t think so, either. Sit your ass back down.” The trainer lowered himself slowly back onto the bed. “So… I read through Spike’s records, and I’ve gotta say… you did a great job with the details. It painted a very vivid picture of what he’s been through… what **you** did to him.” 

Buffy paused for a few seconds to let that sink in and her voice was full of Slayer rage when she spoke in a quiet, measured tone, “You spent years torturing and raping the man I love. Do you really think I’m going to just let you walk out of here to go back and do the same things to others? You really don’t get **who** I am, do you?”

The trainer started to stammer something that was cut off by Buffy’s hand wrapping around his throat. “I didn’t say you could speak. No. You’re going to listen. I know that all the horrible things you do don’t happen in my dimension, so I really don’t have the authority to stop you from doing them, but here’s the thing… You aren’t in your dimension… are you?” The demon gulped under her hand and Buffy pushed him roughly back onto the bed then wiped her hand on her pants. “You own other slaves, right?” He nodded. “How many?”

The trainer said very quietly, “Nine. Each trainer is only allowed ten slaves.”

“Uh-huh… and what happens to them if you just disappear?”

The demon’s eyes widened in terror, but he still managed to stammer, “They will be ranked by earnings then reassigned to other trainers until all openings are filled. Any that have not been reassigned will be… disposed of.”

“You mean killed?”

“Yes.”

“So how many of yours will be reassigned?”

“When I left to make this delivery, there were only three openings.”

“Right. So six of your slaves will be put out of their misery if I kill you. I know that killing them isn’t the most pleasant choice, but since I doubt they can be rehabilitated, it’s probably the most humane one. At least they won’t be suffering anymore.”

“Madam, please…”

Buffy barked, “Please? Please what? Have mercy? Did you show Spike any mercy? At all? Huh? No, you didn’t.”

“I only did what was needed… what he deserved. I took no pleasure in…”

The trainer’s voice was cut off as Buffy’s hand clamped tightly around his throat again. She lifted him clear of the bed then backed up and turned, slamming him into the wall hard enough to knock down the half a dozen framed photos that were hanging on it. “You took no pleasure in it? How stupid do you think I am? I read your notes, you complete moron! I read EVERYTHING you wrote down! You took all kinds of PLEASURE in raping him! Torturing him! Beating him! And you think he DESERVED that? Why? Because he didn’t want to follow your commands? Because he didn’t want to be raped and tortured by anything with enough money to buy his **service**!?”

She pulled him away from the wall then slammed him back into it. “You ENJOYED every single thing you did to him. Every. Single. Thing. And now HE gets to decide what happens to you.” Buffy pulled him back again and was about to slam him into the wall once more when she was interrupted by several sharp knocks on her front door.

Her head whipped around and she glared in that direction, still holding the gasping trainer dangling from her hand. “Really!? Was ‘I’m not answering the door’ unclear? Was ‘leave us alone’ too vague?” She turned and tossed the trainer onto the bed. “Don’t fucking move.”

The trainer sucked in air as his throat was uncompressed and nodded, managing to rasp out, “Yes, madam.”

XXXX

Even though being in pain was tiring, Spike wasn't even the tiniest bit sleepy, so he sat up and scooted up to lean against the headboard. He could still feel a little of the sluggish lethargy that comes with a really intense orgasm, but that was quickly being replaced with a nervously sick fluttering in his belly as he clearly heard everything that was going on in the guest bedroom. Buffy's naked anger flared hotly and contrasted sharply with the trainer's mortal terror. Spike’s hands clenched into fists when his trainer said, “I only did what was needed… what he deserved. I took no pleasure in…” and he barely had time to think the word, ‘liar,’ before there was a loud thump on the wall behind the headboard. Spike startled violently at the first loud thump then twitched at the several smaller thumps and the sound of breaking glass.

He scooted down the bed just far enough to be able to turn and look at the wall as he listened to Buffy shout at his trainer. There was another loud thump and the wall shook with the force as she continued to shout. He turned back around when he heard someone knock on the front door and his stomach twisted into a knot. That must be Angel. Oh joy.

XXXX

Buffy stalked into the living room, muttering angrily under her breath, “I swear, Xander, if that’s you out there waiting to tell me how bad Spike is for me then I’m going to rip your eye patch off and stuff it down your throat.” She pushed the chair out from under the knob, quickly released the locks, and jerked the door open, startling the person on the other side. She stared at him then reined in her anger and tried to smile as she said, “Uh… hi, Paolo. What’s up?”

He answered her in heavily accented English, “There is a gentleman waiting in the lobby to see you, Miss Summers. I phoned to tell you, listened to your message, then explained to him that you didn’t wish to be disturbed, but he is insistent.”

“Did he give you a name?”

“No, Miss Summers, he did not.”

“What’s he look like?”

Paolo raised his hand to nearly six inches above his own head. “About this tall, broad, large forehead, and his hair is…”

“Standing straight up?”

“Yes.”

Buffy’s voice was nearly a snarl. “Angel.”

Paolo’s eyes widened. “He is the one you told me about, yes? The vampire?”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah. And I don’t think he’s really himself right now, so… um… I need about ten minutes before you send him up, but I don’t want you to try to stall him or anything… he might eat you… uh… can you just take the long way back down?”

Paolo paled quite a bit then nodded. “Yes, Miss Summers. I’ll make sure you have your ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Paolo.”

He nodded at her then said quietly, “Please be careful.”

Buffy smiled. “Don’t worry; I can handle fang-boy.” He nodded again then turned and started walking slowly down the hall. Buffy closed the door behind him, not bothering to lock it, and headed for the bedroom, quickly stripping out of her sweats on the way. She kicked them into a corner as she stepped into the room. 

Spike startled slightly when her pants suddenly flew past the end of the bed and whispered, “Angel’s here.”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah. I’m going to get him restrained and then we’ll find out what the hell his damage is, okay?” She ducked into her walk-in closet, pulled her shirt off and dropped it to the floor then took a red silk button down off its hanger and slipped into it, only buttoning three buttons in the middle. She turned and looked at herself in the full length mirror mounted on the closet door and reached up to tousle her hair into what looked like a ‘just had sex’ mess – not that it needed much tousling. Her lips were still a little puffy, like she’d been kissed… a lot… and she used both hands to pinch up a few fake love bites on her neck and upper chest. 

Satisfied that she looked freshly ravaged, she headed back out into the bedroom. “Can you smell yourself on me?”

Spike inhaled deeply through his nose and his eyes drifted shut for a few seconds before he opened them and smiled proudly. “Yes.”

Buffy walked quickly over to the bed and climbed on, straddling Spike before diving in for a long, tongue-filled kiss. She pressed her forehead against his and whispered, “Good. That’ll piss him off and distract him enough that I’ll be able to get the drop on him without damaging him too much. We need him strong for the ritual, not healing from several broken bones.” She leaned back and smiled. “Just stay in here. I’ll come get you when I’ve got him secured and then we can find out what the hell is wrong with him.”

She climbed off him then reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I’ll be back soon.” She let go and headed out to the living room, stopping long enough to tell the trainer – still lying exactly as she’d left him – not to make a peep if he wanted to keep breathing. She pulled something from her weapons chest and leaned it against the wall by the door just as someone knocked. She counted to sixty as she tugged at the shirt so that it drooped off one shoulder, then she opened the door and said sleepily, “Angel? What are you doing here?”

He blinked at her then stammered, “Uh… Are you all right?”

She made a show of looking down at herself then tugged the shirt back up over her shoulder with one hand as she tried to smooth down her hair with the other. “Oh, I’m fine. Just… um… I’ve been busy.”

He looked her over then sniffed at her and his face darkened into a scowl. “Busy… right. Uh… where’s Spike?”

“The smelling thing is still creepy, Angel. Knock it off.” She nodded over her shoulder as she took one step sideways toward the wall, concealing the Louisville slugger that leaned against it. “And Spike’s asleep. Like I said, I’ve been… busy. Think I finally wore him out.” She waved toward the living room. “Do you want to come in?”

He nodded and took a small step forward then stopped before he met the barrier. “I… uh… need more than that, Buffy.”

She smiled a little sheepishly. “Oh, right. Come on in.” She waved at the couch. “Have a seat and I’ll go get dressed.”

He stepped across the threshold and started for the couch, blatantly ogling her half-naked form as he did. Once he was two or three steps past her and had turned his gaze to the couch, Buffy wrapped her hand around the bat and brought it up in a vicious arc that connected solidly with the back of his head. He crumpled to the floor in a heap and she wrapped her other hand around the handle of the bat then raised it above her head as he moaned in pain and started to turn over. “You son of a bitch!” She brought the bat down like she was chopping wood and it connected solidly with his head again, making a sickening crunching sound as it hit. She stood over him, wanting nothing more than to keep hitting him with the bat, but she needed him in mostly one piece for the ritual, so she propped the bat on her shoulder and nudged him with her foot. He was unconscious and there was a small trickle of blood dripping out of his hair to pool on her living room rug. 

She leaned the bat back up against the wall by the door and stomped over to her hall closet, coming back with the two sets of manacles. She pulled his arms up onto his back, not being at all gentle about it, and secured the manacles tightly around his wrists. Then she took off his shoes and socks and fixed the other set of manacles around his ankles. She stood up and brushed her hair back from her face then wrapped her hand around the chain that connected the manacles on his ankles. She pulled him across the floor, hoping he was getting a serious case of rug burn on his cheek, and dragged him toward her hall closet. 

She stopped at the edge of the area rug in front of the couch and let go of the chain in her hand. Angel’s feet thumped to the floor and he moaned quietly. No… putting him in the closet wouldn’t work. He needed to be where she could keep an eye on him. She looked around the living room and her face morphed into a wicked smile. The sex chair. Perfect. 

She picked up his feet again and turned him around then started dragging him toward it. She could see the large damp spot on the seat where her and Spike’s spendings had mixed as they’d sat there trying to recover from their mind-blowing orgasms. Angel would be surrounded by the scent of their coupling and it would hopefully keep him off balance enough that she’d be able to get some answers out of him.

She bent down and fisted her hands in his shirt, intending to heft him into the chair and then chain him to it, but she paused when he moaned, “Buffy? What’s going on? Why did you hit me?”

She let go of him and stood up. “Why!? You’ve got the balls to lay there and ask me **why**? After what you did?”

He turned his head and looked up at her with one eye, his face the picture of innocence. “What did I do?”

Buffy’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“What did I do?”

Buffy sputtered, too angry to actually get any words out, and she had to take a step back then stand there taking deep breaths until she’d calmed enough to be able to speak. “You have **got** to be kidding me. Are you telling me that you don’t know why I’m pissed?”

Now he looked confused. “No, I don’t.”

“So you didn’t ship Spike to me in a packing crate?”

His eye widened and he sputtered, “W..what? No!”

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, her toe tapping angrily on the floor. “Then how did he get here? Hmmm?”

Liam worked to control his expression. It was crunch time and he needed to be convincing, because if she doubted his sincerity at all, she’d probably cave his head in with whatever she’d hit him with. He looked up at her and did his very best to morph his features into something that would say, ‘I’m Angel and I would never lie to you. I love you, Buffy,’ then he took a breath and lied his vampire ass off, “He flew over on the firm’s jet the day you called. I told him you wanted to see him and he checked himself out of the infirmary – against the doctor’s orders – then forged my signature on a flight order before he stole my Viper and left it parked illegally in a no-parking zone at the airport. If he’d waited a few hours, I would’ve had Harmony arrange his travel, but you know Spike… running off half-cocked all the time and leaving me to clean up his mess. I had to go get the Viper out of impound and pay off the porter Spike punched when he told Spike he couldn’t park there. I spent $800 for the impound fee, $200 for the parking ticket, and $2000 for the pay-off.”

Buffy’s toe was still tapping. “So you came all the way over here to get money out of Spike?”

A calculated deep sigh to convey frustration at the younger vampire’s antics. “No. He doesn’t have any money.”

Still tapping. “Then why are you here?”

A pleading look, dosed with just enough urgency to prod Buffy into acting without thinking. “I need your help, Buffy. There’s a prophecy.”


	25. Safeguards

Service Unit  
Chapter Twenty Five – Safeguards

“A prophecy.”

“Yes.”

“And you need my help.”

“Well, not yours, exactly. I actually just need Spike.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “God, how full of shit are you? You didn’t call to bitch at Spike for stealing your car, and I know you, that would have been the first thing you did as soon as you got back from the airport, but you knew he wasn’t here then, didn’t you? You knew he wouldn’t be **delivered** for a week, so you waited until AFTER I called to verify that he’d arrived, and then you got on a plane and now all of a sudden there’s a prophecy. That’s very convenient, Angel. What the hell are you **really** here for?”

Liam sighed. “I didn’t call to ‘bitch at Spike’ for the car because it wouldn’t make any difference and would just be a waste of time. I don’t know anything about how Spike ended up in a packing crate, but knowing him, he probably pissed off the wrong demon and they thought it would be funny to ship a vampire to the Slayer. Who knows? And I didn’t know about the prophecy until this morning. Wes came to me with the scroll and told me the basics and I got on the plane. He called while I was in the air and told me the rest. It’s bad, Buffy. The First is back.”

Buffy snorted. “The First. Right. The First that Spike obliterated in the Hellmouth six months ago followed me to Rome? I don’t think so.”

“I’m not lying, Buffy. And we don’t have time for this.”

“Oh, we have enough time for you to make with the splainy, so you'd better get on it before I go get my bat."

Liam sighed again, wishing that he'd just knocked her out as soon as she'd invited him in. Then he could have taken Spike and they'd be well on their way to having some fun, but being that he was currently at somewhat of a disadvantage, he'd have to keep trying to talk his way out of his restraints. He schooled his features into an earnest expression. “Spike didn’t kill The First; he just wounded it because at the time we didn’t know that the amulet had to be powered by **two** Champions, not just one. So Spike and I have to go down to the catacombs where The First has set up shop and hit it with the amulet again.”

Buffy shook her head. “Uh-Uh. Nope. Not gonna happen. The amulet dusted Spike, then sucked him into the thing and spit him out as a ghost the last time he used it. You’re freaking crazier than Dru if you think I’m gonna put him through that again. I just got him back and I’m not going to lose him, Angel. So no catacombs and no amulet. Period."

Keeping his face set in such an earnest expression was starting to make his cheek muscles hurt. “You won’t lose him. If we’re both there, it will work the way it’s supposed to. It will obliterate The First and won’t dust either of us.” He changed up the earnest expression for one that was pleading, throwing in just a bit of an, 'it hurts that you don't believe me' pout as he said with just a hint of a whine, “Call Wes if you don’t believe me. He can confirm everything I’ve told you.”

Buffy held up her hand. “I just might, but right now I need you to shut up. I need to think.” She turned and walked to the other side of the living room as she tried to figure out just what the hell was going on. _Angel says he doesn’t know anything about the crate, and he looked sincere when he said it… but what about what the trainer said? That Spike was a gift from Angel? Which one of them do I believe? All I have to go on is what the trainer told me because it’s not like I can call the shipping company’s customer service line to verify anything. Angel says that Spike left last week – and I can totally see Spike stealing Angel’s car and doing all the other stuff Angel said he did – and if what Angel says is true, then Spike left LA on Wolfram and Hart’s plane. So what happened to him between there and here?_

She turned and looked at the vampire who was lying quietly trussed up on her living room floor. _What if someone is trying to set Angel up for some reason? He probably has a lot of enemies who would like to see him dusted, but why go to all this trouble? Why would they kidnap Spike and torture him for over two decades before sending him to me? What the hell is that about?_

Her eyes widened. _Maybe they aren’t strong enough or whatever to kill Angel themselves, and can’t get to him at the law firm anyway, so they thought they’d get me pissed enough to do it for them. It’s not exactly a secret how I feel about Spike, so hurting him would be a guaranteed way to make me want to kill whoever was responsible. And they’re pointing my stake right at Angel._

She stared at the vampire’s face as he rested his cheek on the rug. He’d closed his eyes while he was waiting, but she could see the tension thrumming through him as he tried to be patient and give her the time she needed. She walked back over to him and sat down on the edge of the couch. “I want to believe you, Angel, I do, but… You really don’t know what Spike’s been through? What’s happened to him?”

Liam opened his eyes and looked up at her, giving her the most innocent expression he could muster. “What are you talking about? Did they rough him up before they sent him to you?” He cut his eyes to the half-buttoned shirt she was wearing. “Couldn't have been very bad if you’ve ‘worn him out’ like you said.” 

“He was in pretty bad shape when he got here, but he’s nearly healed now because I’ve been…” She bit down on the words then sat in silence for a few seconds. For some reason, telling Angel that she’d been giving Spike her blood didn’t seem to be the best idea. She couldn’t pin down why, but Angel – or Angelus – having that information made a cold shiver race down her spine.

She narrowed her eyes and peered down at the vampire. “I’m going to ask you something and if I feel like you’re lying to me at all… well… I killed you once, and I’ll do it again.”

XXXX

Spike was leaning against the headboard, his eyes wide and frightened as he listened to the goings on in the living room. That wasn’t Angel. Oh, he sounded like Angel to someone who had **only** known him as Angel or Angelus, but… the inflection applied to certain words and the hint of Irish brogue that colored others were a dead giveaway. That was Liam. Spike shivered. Liam was out there with Buffy. They were so completely buggered.

William had spent his ‘formative years’ as a vampire listening to that voice… and learning to obey that voice or risk reprimand. Liam's punishments were... severe, but the punishments hadn’t always been given to him. Drusilla had suffered for his insolence and disobedience on several occasions. Liam hadn’t been above ordering a minion to whip the skin from her back because William had dared to contradict him. One time she’d been whipped for nearly a full day with a cat-o-nine tails soaked in holy water because William had rolled his eyes at something Liam had said. And, of course, William had been shackled and forced to watch as Drusilla screamed and sobbed, the whip snapped harder against her flesh each time William had looked away.

And now Liam was out there with Buffy. Yes, he was secured – Spike had very nearly cheered when he'd heard the manacles snap into place – but he was also a silver-tongued devil, able to talk his way out of almost anything. And Buffy had loved Angel – really and truly loved him – so she would be even more susceptible to his words, more prone to taking whatever he said at face value. If he was able to convince her that he wasn't lying and she let him loose...

Spike flipped the covers back and turned, sliding to the edge of the bed. He put his feet on the floor then struggled to stand up. Uposs was fighting him tooth and claw because of Buffy's command to stay in bed, and Spike's body was shaking and shuddering as he gripped the edge of the mattress tightly in his fists, pushing against it with all his might.

He finally managed to push to his feet then stood there, still shaking as he turned his upper body toward the door. His feet may as well have been nailed to the floor because they didn’t move. Not even a millimeter. Spike turned back and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths as he tried to reason with Uposs instead of fighting it. _Yes, she told me to stay in bed, but then after that, she told me to stay in the room. The most recent order is the one I’m meant to follow, so I’m allowed to get up and move around._

Uposs seemed to buy that and Spike turned, taking halting steps toward the bedroom door. He had to get out there and warn Buffy not to trust Liam – not to listen to anything he said. Liam was up to something, and whatever that something was wouldn’t be good for either of them. Liam was a sadistic, perverted bastard, and Spike didn’t even want to imagine what he had in mind for Buffy… not after all the things he'd done to Drusilla as punishment, or just for... fun. 

Liam hadn't been overly kind to William, either, but Spike could take whatever he dished out, especially now. His time with the demon slavers had suitably conditioned him to be able to handle Liam's most depraved and degenerate ideas of an 'enjoyable night at home,' but Buffy couldn't. Buffy wouldn't be able to cope with being strapped down, whipped, raped, and then repeatedly sodomized with whatever items Liam found to hand. William had had some odd things shoved up his arse by Liam when he was in a 'playful' mood, and Spike DID NOT want to watch Buffy experience being violated by whatever phallic items Liam could find in her living room. And if he found Spike's crate of slave toys... Spike shivered so hard that his teeth clacked together and he had to stop walking for a few seconds until he'd regained some measure of control.

Spike started walking again and made it to the bedroom door then couldn’t make his legs answer him any longer. His feet were once again nailed to the floor and his mind was awash with terror… so much so that he never even considered shouting a warning to Buffy – he’d completely forgotten that he could speak… and he stood at the threshold, his hands clenching and unclenching in frustrated fists as he listened to the lies pouring from Liam’s mouth.

XXXX

Liam swallowed hard and nodded. He already knew what she was going to ask, and he’d spent some time preparing for this question while he was waiting on the plane. He’d rehearsed several different responses then had settled for shock and just a touch of outrage, and now that the moment was upon him, he was almost eager. If he pulled this off, he’d be leaving Rome with his new toy… after having a little fun first, of course. And once he had Spike tucked away in the meeting room at Wolfram and Hart, Buffy would never be able to get to him. She could attack the building using every Slayer on the planet, every witch she could dig up, tanks, missiles, demons, a dragon, and a partridge in a pear tree, and it wouldn’t make any difference. Oh, she’d eventually break through the building’s defenses and yeah, she’d probably dust him on sight, but… he had an ace in the hole.

He’d had one of Wolfram and Hart’s mages ward the meeting room threshold to only accept the passage of Aurelian vampires. No one else would be able to enter the room, so even if Buffy managed to find the room and get the door open, she wouldn’t be able to go any further. Liam swallowed the smirk that wanted to surface as he pictured poor little Buffy, standing at the door to the meeting room, unable to get to Spike even though he was only twenty feet away. Liam could almost smell the tears that Buffy would be shedding as she watched her lover struggling against the chains that secured him to the wall. Magicked, unbreakable chains that would hold him there for the rest of his existence. 

Another smirk tried to wriggle free as he thought of the bonus addendum he’d had the mage work into the warding spell. If he couldn’t get inside the room and Buffy did manage to dust him, the suspension spell on the room would cease to operate, and all of Spike’s body processes would return to normal. It took a long time for a vampire to starve to death, and because of the time difference in the meeting room, Buffy would get to watch Spike deteriorate before her eyes until there was nothing left of him but a desiccated corpse hanging in chains. 

Just imagining Buffy and Spike’s pain and anguish made Liam as hard as stone and he surreptitiously pressed his cock against the floor as he asked, “What do you want to know?”

Buffy leaned down just a little, her eyes fixed on Angel’s face. “Did you lose your soul again? Are you evil?”

Liam flashed the expression of shock and outrage he’d so carefully practiced as he said, “Why does everybody think that?” He let his features morph into what he hoped would look like sincerity. “Buffy, if I was Angelus, I swear you’d already know. Apparently Giles didn’t tell you, but there are safeguards in place at Wolfram and Hart. I showed them to Andrew. If I lose my soul, and the seers sense that it’s gone, then a number of people are notified. Giles is one, I think Willow is one, and you’re supposed to be one. The Senior Partners need me to have my soul or it’ll throw off the balance of good and evil like it did when Spike became corporeal. There was this thing with a cup in an opera house…” Liam sighed in fabricated frustration. “Wes could explain it better. There’s stuff about forces and magical energy and dimensional shift and a prophecy… not the one I’m here about, a different one… but I don’t remember it all.”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds then looked up at Buffy, radiating all the ‘I’m Angel’ sincerity he could summon. “I am NOT Angelus.”

Buffy stared at Angel, watching his face carefully for any sign of deception, but she found none. His explanations made sense… well, as much sense as anything did when dealing with the supernatural world… and as far as she could tell, he was speaking the truth. He didn’t know what had happened to Spike and he wasn’t the one responsible for all the torture Spike had endured. 

She sat back with a sigh and ran her fingers through her hair then stood up. “I’m sorry for hitting you, Angel. Apparently I got some bad information.” She fetched the keys from the closet and knelt next to Angel’s calves, unlocking the manacles on his ankles and then stretching to unlock the ones on his wrists. 

He lowered his hands to the floor and started to turn over as she leaned over to set the keys on the coffee table. She straightened back up just in time to take a savage punch to her left temple. She bounced off the coffee table she’d just deposited the keys on and crumpled into a boneless heap on the rug.

Liam rubbed at his wrists then got to his feet. He bent down and picked up a set of the manacles then reached for Buffy’s left arm. “So nice of you to supply these for me, Buffy. I only brought one pair with me, you see, so I’d have had to take little Willy somewhere else for a little fun before we go home, but now…” He clamped the manacles tightly around her wrists then rolled Buffy to her back and reached for the other set. “...you’ll get to watch the festivities.”

He secured the manacles around her ankles then stood up, reaching down to give his cock a hard squeeze through his pants. "And once I'm done with Willy... it'll be your turn." He swept the top of the coffee table clear with one arm then picked her up, grasping the chains on each set of manacles, and roughly deposited her there with a thump. He stood back and looked down at her with a ferocious grin. "I'd only planned to take Willy back with me – I'll be able to have fun with him for decades – but now that I have two sets of manacles..."

He reached down and lifted Buffy's hands, raising them above her head then letting them drop to the table top. The manacles cracked loudly against the wood then he reached for Buffy's silk shirt, ripping it open and scattering buttons across the living room rug. He reached for her panties next, twisting them in his fist and tearing the cloth away from her body. Then he stood back and looked down at her. "Two toys for the price of one. I come up with the best ideas. God, I love being me!"

He bent down again, laying his hands on her breasts, and then he squeezed. Hard. There were finger shaped bruises on Buffy's flesh when he stood up and turned toward the couch. He stepped to it and knelt down on the floor, bending down to look under it so he could locate the item he’d noticed earlier when he’d been laying bound on the floor. He slipped his hand into the small space then pulled it back with a triumphant smile. He stood up, bouncing the trainer's guide stick on his palm as he turned back to Buffy. "Wonder if I'll be able to train you to respond to this as well as Willy does." He whipped the stick down, cracking it sharply across the underside of Buffy's right breast. A bright red welt rose almost immediately and Liam chuckled. "Although I don't think I'm supposed to 'tap' you quite that hard." He hit the underside of her left breast, raising a matching welt, then he brought the stick down four more times, once across the top of each breast and once across each nipple. He stood looking at her inflamed and puffy flesh for a few long minutes as he squeezed and stroked himself through his pants. "I really do love being me."

He gripped the stick tightly in one hand as he rubbed the other in rhythmic motions across his hard-as-steel cock and started for the bedrooms, calling out in a teasing voice as he walked, "Willy? Where are you, little Willy? It's time to play."


	26. Defiance

New chapter! Yay! Hope everyone is sitting down... wouldn't want anyone to faint or anything. I know it's been a while since I posted, but things are smoothing out around here and I've actually had time to write. I have two more chapters completed after this one and I'm well into the third, so hopefully there won't be such a long span of no-posties. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this. I appreciate each and every one of you. :-)

Service Unit  
Chapter Twenty Six – Defiance

Liam turned into the hallway and stopped, giving his cock one last hard squeeze. "There you are, Willy! You must be looking forward to this as much as I am..." He motioned to the front of his pants. "...since you came out to meet me."

Spike stared at Liam, still unable to make himself leave the room, and watched impotently as Liam walked down the hall, the front of his pants tented obscenely. Another shiver worked its way down his spine as memories floated across his terror-frozen brain, reminding him of what that cock had done to William. Spike could only stand there, reliving those memories, his body flinching with remembered pain as Liam stopped at the guest bedroom door, holding one finger up towards Spike in a 'hold on a minute' gesture.

Liam sniffed deeply then opened the door and barked out a laugh. "Hey, look! It's your trainer, Willy! Well, I'll be damned! I thought he'd be long gone by now... or dead. I'm surprised Buffy didn't tear his head right off during the demonstration, especially if he used that huge dildo on you. My demon just loves watching him ram that thing up your ass... well... it likes watching anybody ram anything up your ass. Remember that one punishment? The one that broke you? I think it watched that one close to thirty times." Liam chuckled, "I'm getting off topic here. We'll talk more about ramming things up your ass when we get back to LA. I'll even show you my demon's favorite scenes, if you want. Now, back to why your trainer's still breathing. He did do a demonstration, didn't he?" Liam chuckled again. "Of course he did. Buffy's not one of your regulars, so he would've had to show her how to play with her new toy." Liam winked at Spike. "I'll bet she didn't kill him because she liked it. Right, Willy? Did she like watching your trainer fuck you with that thing?" Liam smirked at Spike then looked back at the trainer, completely missing the expression of horrified shock that settled onto the younger vampire's face. 

Spike goggled at Liam, his brain furiously trying to make sense of what he'd just heard. _He was **watching** me? He knows about the demonstrations for new renters? My punishments? When I broke? How? He wasn't there, so how could he have seen it at all? Much less more than once? _ Confusion was whirling through him, temporarily pushing his terror aside, and, unbeknownst to Spike's conscious mind, Liam's flippant admission had started something stirring deep inside the traumatized vampire's fractured psyche. Something that, along with Buffy's blood, was working to prod his demon out of hiding. That something was naked, white-hot fury.

When Liam's gaze settled on the trainer, still lying exactly as Buffy had left him, the trainer squeaked quietly and blanched, his skin turning a pale yellow. He swallowed heavily and tried to bow his head respectfully, but the position he'd landed in made that difficult, so his head just bobbed weirdly. "Miss Summers did not enjoy the demonstration, sir, and she's read the unit's records. She was not happy about those, either, and I believe it is her intention to kill me, but if you will intervene on my behalf, I will be completely at your service, Master... Angel, is it?"

Liam smiled evilly. "No, not Angel, but you can call me Master, if you like. And I'll keep Buffy from killing you if you get up and come here right now." The trainer immediately heaved himself off the bed, one hand coming up to rub at his sore throat, then he quickly walked... well, more like scurried in a frightened fashion… over to the door and stepped out into the hall. 

Spike visibly paled and started to tremble as soon as he saw the small yellow demon. His knees knocked together and started to bend so he could assume his regular subservient position, and his hands twitched and started to move toward his back. They'd nearly made it when Spike clenched his jaw and brought them forward again, forcing them to hang at his sides. Then he straightened his legs and locked his knees. Spike glared down the hallway at the two creatures looking back at him and squared his shoulders, lifting his chin defiantly. 

Liam barked an amused laugh at Spike's reaction then indicated the naked vampire with a nod of his head. "I noticed that Little Willy there is wearing a different collar, and unless you switched yours to red silk, I'm gonna guess that it's Buffy's."

"Yes, Master. Miss Summers placed her collar on the unit and completed the ownership transfer. It belongs to her now."

"Ah. So will he obey commands from anyone but her?"

The trainer shook his head. "The unit has been trained to obey only its owner when collared. She would have to remove the collar herself to let it know that she wishes it to obey others."

"That's what I thought. So he won’t do anything I **tell** him to do, but can I **make** him do things?”

“Yes, Master. It will not resist you should you attempt to move it, so you can force it into whatever position is needed to use it as you wish.”

"And he won't resist because..."

"You are an invited guest in its owner's home, and as such, it is assumed you have permission to make use of her possessions. However, should Miss Summers indicate that you are **not** allowed to use her property, it will resist you as much as it is able so that it may maintain whatever position it has been put into or follow whatever order it has been given."

Liam nodded. “Good to know. Why is he standing in the doorway?"

"Miss Summers ordered it to remain in that room."

“So what will he do if I try to take him out of that room?”

“It will do nothing if you use the command stick, because it still wears its owner's collar, but you can pick it up and move it, you can push it ahead of you and it will walk, or you can take hold of part of it and make it follow you."

"And when I get him to where I want him to be, I just move him into whatever position I want and he'll stay that way?"

"Yes, Master. It will only move when physically guided by you. For example, should you wish it to service you orally; you will have to manually open its mouth because it will not respond to the tap command for oral service."

Liam grinned again then tossed the guide stick into the spare bedroom. "Guess I won't be needing that then." He clapped the demon on the shoulder as he said, "Thanks for the info," then he took one step back and reached up with both hands. He grasped the trainer's head and twisted sharply, cleanly snapping the trainer's neck. Liam closed his eyes and shuddered as he let the body fall heavily to the floor, and he looked pleased when he opened them again and looked down at the crumpled demon. The trainer's dead eyes - all of them - seemed to be staring up at Liam accusingly and Liam shot Spike a smile and a shrug. "What? I said I wouldn't let **Buffy** kill him. Never said I wouldn't." He shoved the demon's corpse into the spare bedroom with one bare foot and closed the door. "I'll be back, Willy. Don’t go anywhere." He laughed heartily, “Not that you could. I have my very own life-size, pose-able Willy doll. This is going to be so much fun.”

XXXX 

As he stared at Liam's retreating back, Spike wasn't exactly sure how he should be feeling just now. There were several emotions roiling through him and he couldn't pick out which one he should pay attention to. The terror was there, of course, flailing around like a two-year old throwing a tantrum as it screamed that Buffy was in danger. Relief that his trainer was dead was a cool, refreshing breeze from a lazily spinning fan, while hot bursts of anger popped like bacon grease in a skillet because he hadn't been the one to kill the sadistic bastard. A small bit of disgust was stomping around because the trainer's death had been quick and essentially painless. After all the pain the little yellow demon had inflicted on Spike, a healthy dose of karma would have been nice, but no... Liam had buggered that right up. The disgust huffed and stomped harder.

Spike was trying to sort through all of it when a firework of defiance exploded in his mind, as bright and loud as rock concert pyrotechnics. Spike blinked as all the emotions that had been clamoring for his attention suddenly stilled – shocked into complete silence. Liam thought he was going to force Spike to do whatever he wanted… and what he wanted Spike to do would undoubtedly be painful, degrading, and humiliating… pretty much par for the course where his dealings with Liam were concerned, but… Spike straightened his spine and shook his head. _Nope. Not going to let him use me. Not this time. I’ll fight him. I will. I can._

Then Uposs stepped out of the darkness and stomped on the firework, crushing it under his heel and extinguishing the defiance. Spike gaped at it for a few seconds... and then he got mad. Anger boiled up from he knew not where and he railed against Uposs. _You son of a bitch! You’re just going to let him use me? Probably torture me? Why? I could fight him if you’d let me!_ Spike struggled to lift his right foot off the floor. _Let me move, damn you! If you won’t let me protect myself, at least let me help Buffy! You know, my OWNER? He's done something to her! I have to get out there! I have to stop him from hurting her!_

Uposs countered that it wasn't their responsibility to protect her or save her. Their only function was to service her… and her invited guests. Period. So no, they weren't going to go anywhere until Buffy commanded it or Liam forced him to. 

Spike's fevered brain hit on an idea and he hurriedly shouted it at Uposs. _She said that I could go anywhere in the flat! You heard her! So let me go!_

Spike could hear the definite smirk when Uposs countered again, stating that they were meant to follow the **most recent** order, which was to remain in the bedroom, so they would still not be going anywhere. The ‘so there’ wasn’t actually voiced, but Spike heard it anyway.

Spike flew into motion, twisting his upper body this way and that, even going so far as to grasp his leg and try to move it with his hands, but it was no use. He'd been defeated by his own damn logic and wasn’t yet strong enough to overcome Uposs. The terror had apparently clubbed the rest of the emotions into unconsciousness, because it was starting to creep back in as Spike stood in the doorway, grinding his teeth in frustration. He sighed deeply and his shoulders slumped in defeat as he backed up a step then sank gracefully to his knees, moving his hands into position at his low back. He'd been ordered to stay in Buffy's bedroom and he'd be right there waiting when Liam came back, probably with chains. Liam liked chains.


	27. Planning

Service Unit  
Chapter Twenty Seven – Planning

Buffy slowly opened her eyes and turned her head, blinking in confusion and pain. _Ow. Big ow._ She started to move her left hand to touch the sore place on her head then looked up in surprise when her right hand was pulled along with it. The manacles Dawn had brought for Angel were around her wrists. _What the hell?_ She sat up, her head spinning wildly for a few seconds as she lowered her bound hands, then she jerked sharply when her upper arms touched her breasts, making them bounce slightly. She looked down at herself and her eyes widened when she saw the bright red stripes marking her flesh. _How’d **that** happen? And why am I nearly naked?_

Her head was pounding like a rampaging T-Rex was stomping on it; making thinking a little difficult, but she managed to piece together what had happened. Angel… or actually, Angelus… had lied to her and she’d fucking believed him… AGAIN! God! When would she learn? _Way to go, Buffy! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_

She was about to stand up and do… something… when she heard Angel… no, Angelus… speak from down the hall. Fury ballooned up from her gut and her hands clenched into fists. _If you’ve hurt Spike, you son of a bitch…_ The balloon of fury suddenly burst, pierced by a sharp needle of guilt. Her shoulders slumped, her head drooped, and her hands went lax. _Then it’ll be my fault because I let the son of a bitch loose. God, Spike, I'm sorry._

She jerked her head up when she heard Angelus tell Spike to wait right there. His footsteps were silent because of his bare feet, but she could hear him whistling as he walked down the hall. She quickly lay back down and placed her arms above her head, fervently hoping that they were in the same position, then she worked to slow her breathing and relax her body as much as possible. She wanted to spring her consciousness on him as a surprise… right before she tore his fucking arm off and beat him to death with it.

XXXX

Liam finished whistling the old Irish folk tune just as he stepped back into the living room. He checked on Buffy, smiling to himself when he realized she was playing possum, trying to fool him into believing she was still unconscious. _I can hear your heart racing, you stupid bitch, and smell your anger. Didn’t that useless old Watcher teach you anything about vampires?_ He didn’t change his pace as he neared the table, and even started whistling another tune as he acted like he was going to walk right on by. He saw Buffy tense slightly out of the corner of his eye just as he passed her, then he spun, his hand flying down to her head to grasp her hair tight in his fist. He lifted her head and slammed it back down onto the table. She went limp and her head lolled to the side when he released her hair.

He nodded in satisfaction, then reached down and slapped her right breast, enjoying the way it bounced and reddened further. He slapped the left one, then the right one again, then he straightened and walked to the front door. He opened it and leaned out to retrieve the bag he’d left sitting in the hallway. It was heavy and made suspicious clanking noises as he carried it to the couch and set it down. He unzipped it and started rifling through the contents, pulling out a short length of chain with clips on each end. Buffy would be waking up soon, he hadn’t slammed her head that hard, and he needed to get her arranged before she did.

He wanted to be able to access all of Buffy’s ‘fun spots,’ so he needed to keep her legs mobile, but he didn’t want her to be able to get off the table. He slid her down until half her butt was hanging off the edge then he laid the chain across her belly, wrapping it tightly under the table and clipping it to itself. There was about half the chain’s length left unused, and Liam didn’t want her hands mobile at all – even bound, she was dangerous – so he threaded the rest of the chain through the table’s legs at Buffy’s head and clipped them to the manacles around her wrists. That left her arms stretched tautly over her head and her body firmly attached to the table by the chain at her waist. 

Liam lifted her legs experimentally, opening them and folding them toward her chest. The manacles around her ankles were a bit of a problem, and the table was too low for him to do anything while standing, but it would be the perfect height if he knelt. He’d have to get a few pieces of specialized furniture installed in the room back at Wolfram and Hart – and he was picturing several fun and exciting pieces in his head – but this would do for now. 

His nose wrinkled up as the scent of Spike’s spendings drifted up from Buffy’s sex. _Apparently you used her hard, Little Willy. Look how swollen and slick she is._ Liam considered using her himself for a quick bit of relief... it had been quite a while… well, a little over twelve hours… since he'd gotten his rocks off, and he was fit to burst... then he shook his head and set her feet down on the floor, spreading her knees wide so that she was fully exposed. He'd use her all right, but not yet. It just wouldn't be nearly as satisfying if Spike wasn't there to watch. He turned his head and looked at the hallway then back down at Buffy, a calculating look forming on his face. He bent down and turned the table, Buffy’s legs falling closed as her feet were dragged across the rug, then he looked at the hallway again. He made another adjustment then re-opened Buffy’s legs. “Almost perfect.” 

He walked back over to the bag and rifled through it again. _Buffy needs a little decoration. I brought these for Willy, but I don’t suppose he’d mind sharing. He hates them, of course… probably why my demon loved using them so much back in Sunnydale._ The alligator clamps bit harshly into Buffy’s flesh as he attached them to her nipples and small beads of blood welled up along their edges. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “These haven’t been used since Willy was in that wheelchair. He couldn’t feel anything below the waist, but these?” Liam flicked them with a finger, watching them wave back and forth. “These he could feel. They made him scream.”

He flicked the clamps again then moved around to the end of the table. She was almost too small for the spreader bar he attached to her legs just above the knee, but he made it work. He grabbed it in the middle and used it to lift her legs, pressing it toward her chest as he leaned down over her, still whispering, “My demon used the bar to hold his legs just like this when it’d lay him on the table and fuck him raw. Otherwise the useless things would just flop around and get in the way. Willy hated being fucked like a girl, but having him on his back meant my demon could play with these…” He let the bar rest against his chest and reached toward the clamps, flicking them several times then twisting them sharply. Blood started to leak from around the teeth and dripped slowly down the slopes of Buffy’s breasts. Liam leaned closer, her bound feet pressing into his gut, and licked up the blood.

He straightened up, a shudder running through him, then he licked his lips. “Mmmm… that’s good. Definitely going to have more of that.”

He stood and set her feet back on the floor then moved toward the hallway, turning to eye Buffy critically. _Hmmm… the bar is blocking it._ He pushed her feet closer together then slid them between the legs of the table so that her thighs were sloping downward. That set the bar just below the centerpiece of his display, sort of underlining it, and he smiled. “Now it’s perfect.”

As he stepped back over to his bag, he spoke in a conversational tone, knowing that Spike could easily hear him if Buffy had had the stones removed, and if she hadn’t… well… then Spike would be surprised, wouldn’t he? And surprises were always fun. "What should we do first, Willy?" He lifted a wickedly sharp knife out of the bag and hefted it, admiring the light shining off the blade. "I do miss carving you up, and I've got a new picture I want to try, but..." He looked around the living room. "It does tend to get messy… all that blood leaking out, you know.” He chuckled. “Wouldn't want Buffy to lose her deposit, now would we? And then there’s all that expensive carpet on the jet to consider. Wouldn’t want you to bleed all over that, either.” 

He put the knife down on the cushion and reached into the bag again, pulling out a short-handled whip. He flicked it against the back of the couch and smiled at the cracking noise. “Hmmm… also fun, but still messy…” He eyed the wall by the front door. “And I think the walls are too thin here to really get into that… the neighbors might notice the noise if Buffy had your voice restored. And while I love hearing you scream, I really don’t want to be interrupted if they call the authorities, so that will have to wait, too, I guess. We'll just have to have some good clean fun while we’re here and save the messy fun for when we get back to LA.”

He set the whip next to the knife then pulled a set of manacles from the bag. "Think the first thing I'll do is just bend you over the couch. I haven't had your ass for ages, Willy-me-boy, and my cock is practically screaming for it." He shifted the manacles to his other hand and reached into the bag again, pulling out a bottle of lubricant. He bounced the bottle in his palm a few times then laid it gently on the back of the couch. "I've got lube this time, too. Yeah, some blood is inevitable, considering I don't particularly feel like taking the time to prepare you, but it just doesn't make things slide very easily, does it? And I want to enjoy this, not rub my cock raw." He turned to look at Buffy's exposed crotch then reached down to give his erection a squeeze. "I've got three tight little holes to stick it in tonight and I want to keep it fit and up to the task."

XXXX

Spike listened as Liam walked through the living room. He was whistling, the bastard, and then there was a thud that sounded an awful lot like a head being slammed into a wooden table. Spike flinched. _Buffy._

His hands clenched into fists when he heard the rattle of chain and he started to rise to his feet. He was halfway up when his brain kicked in and he chided himself. _What are you doing, you useless sod? Hmmm? You planning to stand in the doorway and throw glares down the hall? Fat lot of good that'll do. You need to think for once in your life instead of just jumping in without a plan._

Spike sank back to his knees with a sigh then sat back on his feet, his hands still clenched into tight fists. _Thinking. Right. Okay. I can do that. Should probably start by listing the problems to be solved. Liam has Buffy. Big problem. She's most likely unconscious or she'd be kicking his Irish arse all over the flat. Another big problem. My demon's still MIA and I can't overcome Uposs, so unless Buffy commands it, I can't leave this room under my own power. The trifecta of big problems._

Spike closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was itching to get up, to move, to do something, but... he couldn't. He opened his eyes and focused on the end of the hallway. He could hear Liam doing something with the chain, probably using it to secure Buffy in some fashion. _Okay. I've listed the cons. Now for the pros, such as they are. Buffy's not Dru. Big pro right there. Yeah, Buffy's in a precarious situation just now, but she's not entirely helpless. She's smart and tough and as soon as she comes to, she'll be working a plan to get out of this. So instead of charging to her rescue – which I can't do anyway, and even if I could it'd likely just brass the girl off... she's not the damseling type – I need to get myself into a position to be able to back her up when she makes her move._

Spike straightened his spine and unclenched his fists then moved his hands from behind his back and rested them on his thighs. _Don't know that I'll be able to do much to help, but whatever I **am** able to do will be a lot easier if Liam chains my hands in front instead of behind me. _

He looked down at his hands and sighed again. _Of course, I can't act unless Buffy tells me to – which won’t happen if she’s unconscious – or Liam makes me, and I doubt he's gonna punch himself in the head with my fists. God, I'm useless._

Liam started talking like they were sitting on the couch having tea, but the things he was saying would only be considered polite conversation by a few creatures – demons, mostly... and possibly politicians… or lawyers. _So, he plans to rape me instead of carvin' me up or whippin’ the skin from my back. Joy. And he's got lube. Wonderful. Won’t do much to keep that monster cock of his from tearin’ me up, but hey… at least **he’ll** be comfortable. Pillock. Then apparently when he's done with me, he'll move on to Buffy._ Spike's eyes widened. _That's what I can do! I can keep him focused on me! Let him do whatever he likes to me, keeping his attention away from Buffy for as long as I can. Then she can escape!_

With his basic plan formulated, Spike straightened his spine yet again and looked down the hallway, waiting for Liam to reappear. Whatever was about to happen would hurt, yes, but considering what he'd been through in the last two decades, Liam's torture and abuse would be trivial in comparison, something he could easily cope with. During his time in the slaver’s dimension, his body had been subjected to horrors far worse than anything Liam had ever done to him, and suddenly, Liam didn't seem to be nearly as scary as he once had. 

A familiar smirk settled onto Spike’s face. _Bring it, ya poofter. I’m waiting._


	28. Festivities

Service Unit  
Chapter Twenty Eight – Festivities

Liam smiled when he stepped into the hallway again, the manacles swaying jauntily as they dangled from his hand. “I always did like you on your knees, Willy. It’s a good look for you.”

Spike just stared at him, being careful to show no reaction to the spoken words. He wasn’t sure if Liam thinking the stones were still in place was an asset or not, but there was no point in letting him know otherwise until it was necessary. And there was one positive to Liam mentioning the vocal stone… Spike now remembered that he could speak. Too late to make any difference, of course, but it might come in handy later.

Liam sauntered down the hall and stopped in front of the kneeling vampire then reached down and grasped his upper arm. A gentle tug was all it took to get Spike to rise to his feet. He clasped his hands in front of him as he did, not wanting Liam to get the idea to cuff them behind his back.

Liam looked down at his hands and smirked. He reached for Spike’s right wrist and tugged and Spike unclasped his hands, letting the left one move back to his side as Liam raised his right arm. Liam let go when Spike’s arm was at shoulder height and Spike held it there. Liam voiced a small chuckle then grasped Spike’s arm at the elbow and took a few steps back, tugging Spike along with him. Spike followed the taller vampire out into the hall and stopped walking when Liam stopped tugging.

Liam chuckled again as he arranged Spike’s fingers into the symbol for peace and then into the position for flipping the bird before he straightened them back out. “You are completely pose-able, aren’t you? Guess your trainer wasn’t lying about that. Good thing, too. Things would have gone very badly for him if he had… you know, if I hadn’t already killed him.”

Spike just stared straight ahead, waiting to see what Liam would make him do next, so it was a bit of a shock when Liam suddenly bent his arm, sending the back of Spike’s own hand crashing into his forehead. Hard. His head rocked back and when he’d righted it, Liam was sporting a toothy grin. “Why’d you hit yourself, Willy?”

Liam straightened Spike’s arm then bent his hand up at the wrist so that his palm was facing down the hallway. He threw Spike a smirk then sang, “Stop! In the name of loooove,” in a horribly off-key warble. Spike nearly winced, but managed not to, not wanting to give away the fact that he could hear. Liam laughed at his own antics then grasped Spike’s arm at the elbow again and snapped his arm down sharply.

There was the crack of flesh slapping flesh as Spike’s palm made contact with his cock and balls… mostly his balls, though, because he usually dressed to the left, leaving them partially uncovered. The pain wasn’t immediate; there was time for Spike to glance down at himself, to see Liam raising his arm back to shoulder height, and to feel the sting in his palm, and then there was an explosion of agony that started in his balls and radiated up through his belly. 

The unhealed injury in his abdomen, that had been quieting down a bit, suddenly flared back up like a star going supernova when Spike fiercely contracted his stomach muscles, fighting the urge to curl his body around his screaming bits. He forced himself to remain upright, hissing air through his clenched teeth as Liam laughed again, “Why’d you hit your willy, Willy? You shouldn’t do that. It hurts.”

Liam turned, and, still grasping Spike’s arm, started walking down the hallway. Spike followed him, grimacing in pain and hissing more air through his teeth every time he took a step. He probably looked like a crippled crab scuttling across the floor, but he made it to the end of the hall, taking deep breaths when Liam let go of his arm and he was able to stop moving. He stood there with his right arm still sticking straight out in front of him at shoulder height, his abdomen screaming, and his bits throbbing painfully. _So far, my plan to keep Liam distracted is working out just great. And we haven’t even made it into the living room yet. I sincerely hope Buffy is conscious and working on a plan of her own or this is going to be a really long night._

Liam draped the manacles over his shoulder then turned to face Spike, raising a hand to cover Spike’s eyes. “Got a surprise for you, Willy.” 

Spike almost sighed, but he clamped his mouth shut before he could. He’d forgotten just how childish Liam could be when he was in a good mood. Spike waited, expecting Liam to take his arm and lead him to wherever the ‘surprise’ was, but Liam’s large hand closed around his twig and berries instead, squeezing hard, but not quite painfully hard. Spike held his breath. He’d forgotten about this, as well. Liam had often thought it fitting to lead young William around by his cock, since, according to Liam, Drusilla had done the same thing. Although with Dru it was figurative and not literal, but Liam couldn’t be bothered with such trivial details.

Spike felt Liam tug and immediately stepped forward. Liam would crush his boys without a second thought if Spike hesitated at all, so he made sure to keep a steady pace as Liam walked backwards in front of him. A hard squeeze that made Spike’s eyes water was the signal to stop walking and he did, standing stock still and not even daring to breathe until Liam had released him. His freshly drawn breath locked in his throat and he gave a strangled gasp when Liam lowered the hand from his eyes to reveal his surprise. Buffy.

She was displayed on the coffee table in the middle of the room. Liam had positioned the table so that the first thing Spike’s eyes fell upon was her exposed sex. Her legs were spread wide, held open by a spreader bar, and her swollen lips and nub still glistened with their combined juices. Spike sniffed surreptitiously, but didn’t catch any scents other than hers and his own, so Liam hadn’t abused her yet. That was good. Then his eyes tracked up her body and his stomach sank. She was also chained to the sodding table. That was bad. His eyes tracked further up and he clenched his teeth, fighting back an angry snarl when they fell on her bleeding nipples and the shiny metal clamps cruelly biting into them. 

Buffy’s eyes were open and she was glaring murderous daggers at Liam as he dropped the manacles he’d been carrying on the couch and stepped up next to her. “You woke up just in time for the festivities, Buffy. Now, I know how much you like to know what’s going on, so here’s the itinerary…” He nodded over his shoulder at Spike. “First I’m gonna fuck your little toy there, and when I’m done…” He looked down at her crotch… “I’m gonna have some fun with you.” He reached down and flicked one of the clamps, causing Buffy to squeal in pain. Liam shuddered. “Oh… that’s nice. Could get used to hearing that.” He flicked the other clamp, shuddering again when she yelped. “But Willy gets to go first. You’ll just have to wait your turn like a good little girl.”

Buffy’s voice was low and menacing when she snarled, “Leave Spike alone, you asshole. You don’t touch him, you hear me? You want to rape somebody, I’m right here.” She wiggled her hips, grimacing as the clamps bobbed and pulled at her abused nipples, then she gritted through clenched teeth, “Just get on with it and then get out.”

Liam laughed and shook his head. “Oh, that first part is going to happen very definitely, but the second part? Not so much.” He shrugged. “I guess you can go first if you want it that much. Doesn’t really matter to me.” Liam started to unbuckle his belt as he stepped around the table; heading for Buffy’s spread legs. “Which hole do you want it in first? Because if it’s the backdoor, I’ll need the lube.” Buffy just glared and Liam chuckled. “We’ll do front door this time. You’re already slicked up there, so I’ll slide in easy.”

The button on Liam’s pants was open and his zipper was sliding down when Spike started shaking his head. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Buffy wasn’t supposed to sacrifice herself for him. He wasn’t anywhere close to being worth it, but she was thinking with her heart instead of her head. The smart plan would have her encouraging Liam to use her toy any way he wanted – whether that be fucking it, whipping it, or slicing it to ribbons – and then using the distraction her toy provided to give her time to free herself and get out.

Liam was starting to lower himself to the floor, his hands on Buffy’s knees, pushing them up toward her chest, when everyone in the room suddenly froze in shock. The words ‘Use me!’ had issued forcefully from Spike’s lips, probably surprising him most of all, and two sets of eyes focused on the gobsmacked vampire.

Spike just stood there, wondering where in the hell that had come from. He hadn’t made a conscious decision to speak, so which part of him – and he really should start charging rent to all the different entities and personalities that had taken up residence in his head – had opened his mouth and made words come out of it? It hadn’t been Uposs, that was for damn sure, because according to that git, Spike was now obligated to resist anything Liam tried to do to him because of Buffy’s statement that Liam wasn’t allowed to touch him. Spike sighed internally. _Which completely buggers my plan of keeping him distracted. Bloody hell, Buffy… don’t play martyr for me. Tell him he can use your toy. Tell him to do whatever he wants. I can take it. You can’t._

Liam dropped Buffy’s legs and stood back up, tucking his hard cock back into his pants as he did, then he turned to face Spike. His mouth quirked up at one corner as he said, “You can speak. Wow. Really wasn’t expecting that.” He picked up the manacles and started toward Spike, motioning toward his crotch as he did. “I don’t know why you two are fighting over this. Both of you will be getting a taste before we leave here, and it doesn’t really matter which one of you goes first.”

Buffy pulled fruitlessly against her restraints and lifted her head off the table. “Spike, no. You don’t have to do this. Let me. Just turn around if you have to while he’s… but I’m not going to let him hurt you.”

As Liam approached, Uposs shouted, _Don’t let him touch you! Move!_ Spike twitched slightly, expecting Uposs to pull his arm down and make him step away from Liam any second now, but… nothing happened. He was still standing in the same place with his arm extended. 

Spike’s eyes widened as he realized what that meant. _Wait just a bloody second. You can **stop** me from moving when I want to, but you can’t **make** me move. You can shout at me, and tell me what I should be doing, but you can’t **make** me do it. That’s… interesting._

Liam reached for Spike’s right arm and Uposs shrieked, _Move! Move now!_

Spike smirked at Uposs. _Make me._

Liam wrapped one cuff of the manacles around Spike’s right wrist. The spikes on the inside of the cuff jabbed into Spike’s skin and he winced. Liam chuckled. “Yeah, I took the time to find your favorite kind, Willy.” He clicked it shut, pushing the spikes further in, then pushed that arm down until he could wrap the other cuff around Spike’s left wrist. Spike winced again and Liam smirked. “I’d put your other pretties on, but Buffy’s using them. Hope you don’t mind. I do have some others, but they can wait. We have plenty of time to use them later.” He grasped Spike’s elbow again and started guiding the smaller vampire toward the large couch. When they’d reached it, Liam moved behind Spike and kicked his feet apart then pushed his torso forward, bending him over the piece of furniture. He looked down at the droplets of blood that marked their path then leaned over and looked at the blood dripping from Spike’s wrists to land on the couch cushion. He shrugged. “Guess it’s gonna be a little messy after all. Oh well.” He picked up the bottle of lube with one hand while he freed his cock with the other. 

Uposs was still shrieking, and the noise was beginning to make Spike’s metaphorical ears bleed, so he shouted back, _Shut up! I have a plan and I’m going to see it through, so just shut your gob! You can run your mouth at me all you want **after** Buffy is safely away, but right now… I’m doing this… and you can’t stop me. _

Buffy’s struggles were increasing and her eyes were filling with tears of anger and frustration. “Leave him alone! I’m right here!” She lifted her feet then stomped them back down, yelping again as the clamps on her nipples bounced harshly. 

Liam shuddered and looked over at her. “You can keep doing that if you want. Hearing those delicious noises just makes my cock harder.” He flipped open the bottle of lube and drizzled some out onto the first two fingers of his right hand. 

Buffy stomped again, then yelped again, then shouted, “Stop that! Come get me!” Liam looked her right in the eyes, wearing a wide grin, then shoved his two fingers harshly into Spike.

Spike grunted in pain as he was pushed forward against the back of the couch, his already throbbing bits slamming into the frame. Liam thrust his fingers in and out a few times then started scissoring them, stretching Spike’s entrance, but just barely. He pulled his fingers out and wiped them on his cock then grasped Spike’s hip with one hand and lined himself up with the other. “Been waiting a long time for this, Willy. You ready?”

Buffy yelled, “No! Stop! Take me, dammit! Leave him alone!”

Liam shook his head and started to press his hips forward, the blunt head of his cock pushing past Spike’s sphincter with an audible pop. A few of the mostly healed tears re-opened and Spike closed his eyes against the fresh pain as he tried not to make any noise. Liam loved to hear his victims scream, and Spike was sure he would eventually, no matter how much he tried not to, but he wanted to save his screams until Liam started to lose interest… use them to keep Liam’s focus off Buffy.

Spike kept his eyes closed and his lips clamped tightly shut as Liam continued to push in until his pubic hair was crinkling against Spike’s tailbone. Liam stopped moving and groaned in obvious pleasure. “God, Willy, I’d forgotten how gloriously tight you are. Even after taking all those demon cocks, your little ass still squeezes me so good.”

Spike heard a sobbed, ‘No,’ and opened his eyes, focusing on Buffy. She was staring at him, tears coursing down her cheeks as she continued to struggle against her bonds. Liam pulled back, nearly pulling out all the way, and then slammed forward, crushing Spike’s genitals against the frame of the couch again. That agony was nearly eclipsed by the burn from his entrance as it was stretched; more tears re-opening with bright sizzling bursts of pain.

Spike clenched his jaw then took a deep breath, locking his gaze with Buffy’s as Liam gripped his hips tightly and started sawing in and out of him at a slow pace. Spike shook his head at her continued struggles then said quietly, “It’s all right, Buffy. This has happened to me hundreds of times, and I’m better equipped to handle it than you are. It’s all I’m good for anyway, so just let it be. Please.” He cut his eyes purposefully to the chain around her waist then looked over at the door. He did that twice more then locked gazes with her again and mouthed, “Get free and then get out.”

She shook her head and mouthed back, “I can’t leave you! Not like this!”

Spike closed his eyes briefly then opened them and mouthed, “Yes, you can. Go. Please.”

Buffy shook her head and mouthed, “I love you.”

Spike smiled and mouthed back, “I know. I love you, too. Now go.”

Liam watched the exchange, only getting Buffy’s half of the conversation because he couldn’t see Spike’s face, but it wasn’t hard to figure out what was going on. He snorted. “Both of you are trying to save the other because you’re in looove. That’s so cute. It’s also completely pointless because neither one of you is going anywhere, and you’re both getting fucked tonight – probably more than once because I’ve got a lot of time to kill before sundown tomorrow – but it’s still cute.” He smiled at Buffy as he picked up the pace a little, the sound of skin slapping against skin getting louder. 

Liam’s cock had been hitting his prostate every third thrust or so, and Spike’s cock had responded to the stimulation as it had been trained to. He was fully erect now, and having his cock slammed against the wooden frame of the couch was really starting to hurt, and added to all the other pain he was in, thinking was becoming difficult. Spike braced his bound hands against the seat of the couch then pushed back just a little, angling his hips to try to create some space between his bits and bobs and the back of the couch. 

Liam moaned at the change in position and gripped Spike’s hips tighter then started slamming into him. “You see how he’s pushing himself onto my cock, Buffy? He loves this. He always did. He’s always been a little cock whore. You like seeing him like this, don’t you? You like watching him bend over and take it up the ass. My demon does, too. It spent a lot of time watching our little Willy getting fucked, and yeah, I’ll admit, I watched it, too, and I liked it, but you know…”

Buffy wailed, “Shut up! Just shut up!”

Liam shook his head, “Can’t. This feels too good. He’s so tight, Buffy, so fucking tight. And, as I was saying, watching him get fucked by all those demons can’t even compare to fucking him myself. This is something I’m gonna do every day. Every. Single. Day.” Liam groaned again and slowed his pace, pushing in just as deep as he could go before pulling out then slowly pushing back in. “Don’t worry, though, I’m not gonna leave you out.” He looked pointedly at Buffy’s crotch and licked his lips. “You’ve got two pretty little holes now, but I wonder if they’ll still be as pretty after I’ve rammed my cock into them every day for the next ten years. Willy’s hole will be. He’ll still be just as tight in **fifty** years as he is right now.” 

Spike was still cycling his gaze between the chain around Buffy’s waist and the front door, but she apparently wasn’t getting the memo. She was still pulling futilely against the manacles around her wrists, tears dripping from her eyes as she watched him getting raped. He had to think of something that would get her moving. Something that was more important to her than his worthless hide. A light bulb flicked on in his head. Not some **thing** … some **one**. Someone she’d died to protect. Someone who still needed her sister. He fervently whispered, “Remember Dawn. She needs you.” 

Buffy’s eyes snapped to his and Spike mouthed again, “Get free and get out! Go now! While he’s busy!”

Liam stopped thrusting when Spike whispered and then he threw his head back and laughed. “Sweet little Dawnie! I’d forgotten all about her! She lives in Rome, too, doesn’t she? That’s just perfect.” He started moving again, faster now, and continued speaking. “Oh, the things my demon wanted to do to her back in Sunnydale.” He smacked his lips then raised his hand and slapped Spike hard on the ass, leaving a red handprint on his pale cheek. “She was so young then, so fresh, so… pure. She’s probably not as pure now, but I’ll bet she’s still as sweet. Wonder if she’s a screamer? Once we’re done here, I’m gonna go get her and we’ll find out, but even if she isn’t, she’ll make a nice addition to my toy collection. I’ll make her love it… crave it… just like Willy does.” Liam slapped Spike’s other cheek then pulled all the way out and thrust in hard, once again slamming Spike into the back of the couch. 

Spike’s cock was compressed rather painfully between his pubic bone and the edge of the couch frame and a moan of agony escaped his lips, but the realization of what he’d just done hurt a thousand times worse. He’d opened his stupid worthless mouth without thinking things through… AGAIN… and now one of the most evilly sadistic vampires on the planet had his perverted sights focused on Buffy’s little sister. Spike closed his eyes, unable to look at the woman whose world he’d just shattered. He’d condemned Niblet to a lifetime of torture and rape right alongside her sister. The rest of their lives would be filled with nothing but pain and fear, and they’d probably be very long lives because Liam was skilled at keeping his favorite toys viable and ready for more. _I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I’m sorry, Buffy. I’m sorry I was shipped to you. I’m sorry I’m such a weak and useless piece of shit. I’m sorry for what I’ve done to Dawn. I’m sorry for all of it, not that it makes any difference. You both would have been better off had you never met me._

Spike let his arms go lax, not even trying to brace himself against Liam’s hard thrusting anymore. Liam smiled then let go of Spike’s hips and grabbed the back of the couch instead, holding it steady as he pounded into the smaller vampire. Spike stopped trying to hold back the noise, too, and his whimpers and cries of pain only spurred Liam on. He started putting more of his preternatural strength behind his thrusts, and Spike let out a strangled yelp when he felt his pubic bone crack. His abdomen had been nothing but a white hot ball of agony ever since he’d smacked himself in the nuts, his wrists were screaming as the manacles slid back and forth across the couch cushion, his entrance was torn and bleeding, and his genitals were well on their way to being mashed into pulp, but he deserved the pain. Every last scrap. So he took it. Welcomed it.

Buffy wasn’t crying any more, but neither vampire noticed. They weren’t paying her any attention at all, but at least one of them should have been. She was pissed – Slayer-strength pissed – and that one vampire was lucky that the Slayer Power Package hadn’t included a laser beam gaze or he’d be a flaming torch right now. As it was, he was still pumping in and out of Spike and was nearing orgasm, if you went by the sounds of pleasure he was making and the stupid look on his stupid face. Spike had his eyes closed and his face was set in an expression that mixed agony, guilt, and abject misery. He wasn’t even bothering to try to protect his poor battered genitals anymore. He was just letting them get slammed into the couch over and over again, whimpering or crying out in pain every time they did. 

_Oh, Spike. I can tell from the guilt on your face that you think you’ve just doomed my sister, but you haven’t. I’ll never let that son of a bitch lay a hand on her. And I know you don’t realize it, but you just gave me what I needed. You always do that, don’t you? Even if it hurts you._

Buffy closed her eyes and relaxed against the table top, taking deep breaths as she blocked out the pain from her nipples and head, focusing her energy. She had one shot at this, so she’d better make it count. She listened to the sounds coming from the two vampires across the room, waiting for the signal that would tell her it was go time. _Just hang on a little longer, Spike. It’s almost over._

And then she heard it. She’d only heard it once before, on her 17th birthday, but it was unmistakable. 

She moved.


	29. Demon

Service Unit  
Chapter Twenty Nine – Demon

Three things happened at the same time.

Liam came. Hard. His body arched into a taut bow and he shot his spunk deep into Spike’s bowels with a roaring howl, gripping the back of the couch hard enough that he punched his fingertips through the fabric and into the wooden frame. He freed one hand and reached for Spike’s collar, using it to pull Spike up into a nearly vertical position before he pulled out about halfway then slammed forward again, drawing out his orgasm as long as he could.

Spike screamed. He’d been trying not to, trying to keep his pain noises to nothing but whimpers and small cries, but Liam’s vampire-powered thrusts had slowly been cracking the wooden frame of the couch. When he’d climaxed, his thrust had pushed Spike into the frame with such violence that it had finally broken and several shards of wood had buried themselves deeply into his already injured abdomen and genitals. Being jerked up by his collar had made the wood shift, driving deeper into him, and even the collar tight against his throat couldn’t hold back the scream.

Buffy got free. She lifted her legs, folding herself in half until the spreader bar bumped the nipple clamps, and then she snapped them back down in a modified kip. It was modified because one generally isn’t wearing a spreader bar and doesn’t have a table strapped to their back when attempting such a maneuver, but it worked. She landed unsteadily on her feet with her knees spread uncomfortably wide, her arms stretched up over her head, and the chain around her middle digging painfully into her flesh because it was fully supporting the entire weight of the table. Between the spreader bar and the short chain connecting the manacles around her ankles, she was barely able to brace herself against the added weight on her back, but she didn’t need to stay on her feet for very long. She bent forward, balancing awkwardly, and then threw herself up and back, slamming hard into the floor. The table’s sort of spindly legs hit first; breaking with four loud snapping sounds, and the pieces skittered off in four different directions. The table top exploded an instant later into various sized shards of laminated particle board and Buffy crashed through them, her breath whooshing out of her when she hit the floor. 

She lay there stunned for a few seconds then took a deep, painful breath and looked over at the two vampires. Both of them were oblivious to anything other than their own pleasure or pain. Angelus was climaxing, his body taught and thrumming as he voiced the distinctive howl Buffy had heard on her 17th birthday when he’d taken her virginity. Spike was screaming as his body was pushed further into the freshly broken back of her couch. She could see jagged bits of wood sticking out of the couch fabric… and into Spike. 

Thankfully, the noise they were making had covered most of the noise of the table shattering, but she didn’t have a lot of time. She raised her arms as far as the chain clipped to the manacles would allow then focused on the connecting chain, trying to do that centering thing Giles had taught her. She pulled her wrists apart, applying every ounce of fury-fueled Slayer strength she could find, and the chain snapped. The larger chain that had been clipped to it dropped, the heavy clip bouncing off her forehead on its way to the floor, and she sat up, reaching for the straps of the spreader bar. She slid her fingers underneath and pulled, easily tearing the leather. She leaned forward and grabbed the connecting chain on the set of manacles around her ankles and snapped it. She stood up, the chain around her waist sliding to the floor along with chunks of table top, and only remembered the clamps on her nipples when they bobbed painfully. 

There was no time to deal with them, though. Angelus was nearly done and would be coming back to reality in a few seconds. She darted forward and buried her hand in the large duffel bag sitting open on the couch next to Spike. She wrapped her fingers around the first thing they touched, hoping it was something heavy. It was. She jerked it out of the bag and gripped it tightly with both hands then bounded up onto the arm of the couch and twisted, swinging her weapon at the back of Angelus’ head. It hit with a loud crack and he slumped forward over Spike, ending Spike’s scream abruptly when his bulk pushed all the air out of Spike’s lungs and smashed his face into the couch cushion.

Buffy jumped back to the floor and dropped the item in her hand, clenching her teeth to stop the scream when the clamps on her nipples bounced like kids on a trampoline. She grasped Angelus’ shoulders and lifted his torso then pushed, trying to gently disengage him from Spike. She failed. Spike screamed again, the scream muffled by the couch cushion, as the cock that had been buried balls deep inside him was violently torn out when the heavy vampire attached to it suddenly tumbled to the floor.

Buffy raced around to the back of the couch. Angelus was in a crumpled heap at Spike’s feet, partially lying in the puddle of blood on the floor between them. There was so much. It was streaking in rivulets down Spike’s legs, and although she’d assumed it to be coming from his torn and ravaged anus, it wasn’t. Yeah, he was bleeding from that orifice, but not nearly enough to explain the puddle. 

She stood there, looking back and forth between the two vampires as she tried to figure out which one needed her attention the most at the moment. Spike was hurt, yes, but being a vampire meant that unless the couch wood pierced his heart, he wouldn’t die from his injuries. Angelus, on the other hand, presented a danger to both of them if he was allowed to remain free while she tended to Spike. 

Her eyes fixed on Spike again and she winced as more blood pattered to the floor at his feet. He was taking deep breaths, emitting agonized moans on each exhale, and she took a step toward him. She needed to get him off the couch and get some blood into him, do something to alleviate the pain he was in because of her stupidity. She looked back down at Angelus. But if he woke up while she was doing that… She looked back at Spike. She’d already gotten him hurt by letting Angelus loose once and she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

Decision made, she bent to the vampire on the floor and rolled him to his stomach then fisted her hands in the pants that were tangled around his lower legs. She pulled him across the floor, making sure to drag him across every rug she owned between the back of the couch and the sex-chair in the opposite corner of the room. She rolled him to his back, smiling to herself at the rug-burn all over the fronts of his thighs, his genitals, his stomach, and his cheek. It was a small thing, probably a petty and childish thing, but it made her feel a little better.

She sat him up then moved around behind him, sliding her arms under his and then around his chest so she could heft him into the chair. The clamps on her nipples pressed agonizingly into her flesh when she started to lift and she bit down on another scream then dropped Angelus and backed up a step. She looked down at herself and winced. Blood was dripping from her nipples, streaking down the undersides of her breasts and across her stomach. She started to pinch open the clamp on her right nipple, trying to open it gently, but the teeth were buried deep, so, clenching her jaw, she pinched it open quickly and pulled it away. “Ow! Freaking ow ow ow!”

She held the clamp tight in her fist and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths until the pain had subsided somewhat. She opened her eyes and looked down at the remaining clamp, then clenched her jaw again and removed it. “Ow! Double fucking ow!” She did the eyes closed deep breathing thing again until the agonized throbbing in her nipples was reduced to slightly less agonized throbbing. 

She opened her eyes and looked down at Angelus. “Let’s see how you like it, you son of a bitch.” She bent down; wincing at the movement of her breasts, then tore open his shirt and fastened the clamps to his nipples, pressing down hard on the teeth. Then she sat him up again, gritting her teeth as his back pressed against her breasts, and hefted him roughly into the chair. She fetched the long chain from the closet and wrapped it tightly around him, securing his torso to the back and his legs to the seat. She also made sure to wrap the chain right over his clamped nipples, pressing the clamps tightly to his chest. 

With that done, she turned back to the couch. Spike was still folded over the back of it and hadn’t moved at all that Buffy could see. He wasn’t moaning any more, either. He wasn’t doing anything… even breathing. He was as motionless as a corpse. Buffy knelt on the floor in front of the couch and reached out, lightly stroking her hand over the fuzz on his head. “Spike?” His face was still pressed into the cushion, so she used both hands to gently turn his head then gasped and jerked them back when his face came into view. He was fully vamped out, the very tips of his shortened fangs peeking out from under his top lip.

“Spike?” His eyes snapped open, the golden orbs rolling around in panic for a few seconds before they settled on her. His top lip lifted slightly, exposing more of his fangs. “Um… your demon’s back... but uh… you probably noticed that.” Spike didn’t acknowledge that she’d spoken. He didn’t even blink, which was kind of creepy. “Um… are… are you still in there with it? Or am I dealing with a feral vampire like when Angel came back from that hell dimension?”

Spike growled, the sound rumbling up from deep in his chest, then he snapped his fangs. Buffy backed up just a little. “Oh… uh… okay. Kind of getting a feral vibe here. Or are you just growling and snapping because I said Angel’s name?” The growl that rumbled up was louder this time. “Right… Got it. No more saying that name.”

She started to reach out toward him then pulled her hand back. “Are you going to bite me if I touch you?” No response. And still no blinking. That was getting really, really freaky. “Well… guess I’ll find out. Uh… here I go.” She reached toward him, laying her hand lightly on his head. When he made no move to bite her and didn't snap or growl, she started rubbing gently at the fuzz again.

After a few seconds of that, his eyes closed and his chest rumbled, but it wasn’t a growl. He was purring. Because she was petting him. Comforting him. “Okaaaay. Uh... I’m thinking that Spike has gone away for a little while, so… um… do you know what’s been happening?” He sniffed and his eyes opened again, cutting straight to the chained up vampire in the chair. He lunged forward with his arms outstretched and his fingers bent into claws, a fierce growl rending the air as the loud pop-crack sound of breaking wood came from the couch. The lunge was cut short before Buffy could even react to the demon’s sudden movement. He yelped like a kicked puppy and went limp, his head and arms bouncing slightly as they hit the cushion. He started growling again, trying to rise as he did, but the growls were interspersed with the whines and whimpers of a creature in pain.

Buffy reached out and pressed down on his upper back, trying to hold him still as she said, “Stop. God, please stop. You’re hurting yourself.” He went limp again, his fingers relaxing and his growling tapering off so that nothing was left but quiet whimpers. Buffy lifted her hands and leaned down, resting her cheek on his head. She whispered, “You’ll get your chance, I promise. But not right now. Just stay still, okay? Please?”

She sat up and rested her hand on his head, resuming the petting when he whined quietly. “Okay… I guess you know what’s been happening. So… um… I need to get you off the couch… and um… it’s gonna hurt… probably a lot, and I don’t want you to attack me or anything. I’m not doing it to hurt you; I’m doing it to help you. Do you understand that?”

The demon pushed his head into her petting hand, giving a quiet whimper as he did. Buffy felt her eyes well up and she leaned down, brushing a light kiss across his brow ridges. "Okay. I guess you do. It's nice to see you again, by the way, and I'm glad you're back, but um... are you going to let Spike come back?"

The demon's hands moved, reaching out to the hand Buffy had laid on the couch cushion next to his head. He grasped her fingers in his own and squeezed, then brought her hand to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss on the back. Buffy smiled. "I'm gonna take that as a yes. Okay then. Let's get you off the couch and get you cleaned up."

She searched through the mess on the floor until she’d located the keys to the manacles Dawn had brought, but they didn’t work on the ones Spike was wearing. She threw them down in frustration then stomped over to the open bag on the couch. She absently bent down to pick it up the item she’d hit Angelus with, intending to return it to the bag, only to drop it again when she realized what it was. It was an anatomically correct dildo, with balls and everything… if the anatomy in question belonged to a freaking giant. The thing was huge, easily a foot and a half long, and about the girth of a large coffee mug. It was made of a dark reddish-brown material, and, on closer examination, Buffy realized it had been carved from mahogany. There was a smear of blood and a small tuft of gelled hair stuck to one of the balls and Buffy giggled. She couldn’t help it. She’d brained the big dick with a big dick.

She picked it up again and dropped it into the bag then stuck her hand inside and started searching along the bottom for keys. She found them stuck in one of the corners under some kind of weird plastic tube thing. It had sharp points lining the inside, like the little spikes that keep a plastic floor runner from sliding around, and there was a thick ring at one end attached with a hinge. The ring was held closed with a padlock. Buffy jerked her hand out of the bag when she realized what the thing was and what it was for. She threw a glare at Angelus as she transferred the keys to her other hand then wiped her searching hand on the arm of the couch. “Yuck. You are one sick puppy, Angelus. One freakishly sick puppy.”

She knelt on the floor in front of Spike and was about to release the manacles around his wrists when Angelus spoke, scaring the crap out of her. “I wouldn’t do that.”

She jerked sharply, wincing as her breasts bounced. Spike’s demon started growling and Buffy laid her hand on his head and started stroking his hair. When he’d quieted, she looked over at Angelus and said, “Shut up.”

He shrugged… well… he tried to shrug. The chains wrapped around him made that kind of difficult, and he winced when they pulled at the clamps on his nipples. He looked down at them then back up at Buffy with a knowing smile. “Nice. Didn’t know you liked to play.” He nodded at the bag. “I have a lot of other toys, if you’re interested. I don’t mind a little pain with my pleasure.”

“I am so **not** interested. You’re disgusting. And I told you to shut up.”

He did his shrug-wince routine again. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Buffy sighed. “Warn me about what?”

He smirked then indicated Spike with a nod of his head. “That’s not Spike. It’s just his demon… nothing but instinct and base desires… no humanity at all. And because it’s injured, all it cares about right now is blood.” He nodded at Buffy’s still exposed torso. “You’re covered in it.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I didn’t just fall off the Slayer truck, you idiot. I figured that out already.”

“Okay, but did you figure out that if you let it loose, it’ll kill you as soon as it gets the chance? It won’t be able to help itself.”

Buffy looked down at the vampire she was petting and smiled softly. “He won’t kill me. I trust him.” She looked back over at Angelus. “He’ll kill you, though, and I’ll let him. Hell, I’ll help him. And then I’ll get out the vacuum cleaner and we’ll be rid of you for good.”

Angelus snorted derisively. “I’m its sire. It wouldn’t dare.”

“You killed your sire.”

“Yeah, but I have a demon that’s actually worth a damn, not some little pussy like he’s got. His demon doesn’t have the balls to raise a hand against me. Even Drusilla’s demon is stronger than his.”

The vampire under her hand started snarling and Buffy continued to pet him as she said quietly, “I think you’d be surprised at what his demon is capable of.” She leaned down and whispered, “You’ll get your chance. I promise.” She pressed her lips to his ear then whispered, “Please don’t move.”

She got up and went over to the closet, emerging with the glittery pink ball gag. She held it up and waggled it as she walked across the living room. “Look at what Dawn bought, especially for you. It’s a mute button for annoying asshole vampires. Isn’t she thoughtful?” Angelus started snarling and shaking his head as Buffy neared him. She stopped in front of him and sighed. “I’m going to get this on you one way or another, so you might as well just let me.”

He looked up at her and growled, “As soon as I get free, I’m gonna ram my cock so far up your ass it’ll split you in two, little girl. And that’ll just be the start of what I’ll do to you.”

Buffy glanced down at Angelus’ exposed genitals and smiled. Then she punched him in the nuts. All the air wheezed out of his lungs as he tried to double over, but the chains held him upright. His eyes crossed then closed and he tried to draw his legs closer to his body, but nope… chains. She slid the straps of the ball-gag over his head then crammed the rubber ball into his mouth, making sure it was seated properly before she tightened the straps.

He opened his eyes and glared up at her, still trying to curl his body around his balls as he wheezed through his nose. She stood back and looked him over, tilting her head. “You don’t seem to be getting much pleasure from that pain. Hmmm… maybe I did it wrong. Let me try again.”

She punched Angelus in the nuts again then turned and headed back over to Spike. “Yep. I must be doing it wrong. Oh well. Live and learn.”


	30. Broken

Service Unit  
Chapter Thirty – Broken

Spike’s demon whined pitifully as Buffy tried to gently unwrap the manacle from around his left wrist. The spikes were buried deep and she kept murmuring, “Sorry. I’m sorry,” as she pulled it free. The whining continued during the freeing of his right wrist then he buried his face in the cushion as she dropped the bloody manacles in the bag.

Buffy petted his head for a few minutes while he tried to deal with the pain, then she smiled reassuringly at him when he turned his head and looked up at her. “Okay. Can you lift up a little so I can see how bad it is?”

He started to raise his torso, pushing his hands against the bloodied couch cushion, then shrieked and dropped back down. Buffy had leaned down as he’d moved, and before he’d dropped, she’d managed to see a piece of wood about the size of a large taper candle sticking into his abdomen just above his pubic bone. He was impaled on her couch.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit. That’s not good. Um… there’s no way I’m getting you off the couch without it feeling like I’m gutting you. At least not while you’re awake.” She glanced over at Angelus. He was out cold, the big baby. “As much as I hate to say this, why can’t you be like him? At least right now? A little pain and he passes out.” The demon whimpered and Buffy laid her hand on his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I don’t want you to be like him at all, but I need you to be unconscious if I’m going to be able to do anything to help you. I don’t have any drugs or anything here strong enough to work on a vampire and I’m sure as hell not going to hit you.” She suddenly shot to her feet, wincing at the pain in her breasts from the sudden movement, then started for the hall. “That black stone! I can use that!”

She threw open the guest bedroom door and barreled through… then tripped over the dead demon just inside. She landed hard; right on her already throbbing breasts, and barely caught herself in time to keep her chin from cracking off the floor. She rolled to her back and finally let out that scream she’d been holding in. It reverberated off the walls of the bedroom, and when she finally ran out of air, she heard an answering keening noise coming from Spike’s demon. She sat up, cradling her injured boobs carefully in her arms as she took a few breaths, then she called out, “I’m okay. I just fell. I’m fine.”

The keening noise was interrupted by a sudden sharp shriek and Buffy called out again, “Don’t move! I need to find something and then I’ll be right back.” She scooted closer to the dead trainer and started to quickly rifle his pockets. The third one she checked contained something slimy and squishy and she jerked her fingers out of it then wiped them furiously on his robes. “Ew. Ew. Ew… what was that? No… never mind. I don’t want to know.” 

Instead of sticking her fingers in the next pocket, she just patted the outside. Seven patted pockets later – and honestly, how many pockets did the creepy little shit need anyway? – she felt something hard that was about the size of the stone she was looking for. She slipped her fingers inside and pulled out the knock-out stone and a bonus… the little silver stick. She clutched it in her hand and stood up, starting for the door. “This thing might be too small to heal some of his wounds, but I could probably use it to close some of the smaller stuff… if it doesn’t take magic or need a demon using it to work. Guess we’ll see.”

When Buffy stepped back into the living room she figured out what had caused Spike’s demon to shriek like that. He’d freed himself from the couch and was lying on the floor behind it, curled into the fetal position in the puddle of blood. He was crying and moaning in agony, his forehead pressed against his knees, and Buffy dropped down beside him. “Oh God, why didn’t you wait?” She looked up at the broken back of the couch and winced. The indented section was a forest of ripped fabric and jagged pieces of wood, and all of it was drenched in Spike’s blood. 

She shuffled on her knees until she was near Spike’s head then she touched the black stone to the base of his skull. “Please let this work. Please.” It did. Spike’s body went boneless as he fell unconscious. She took a deep breath and moved Spike’s head, lifting his face away from his knees. He was still vamped out. Buffy stood and considered the blood covered vampire on the floor for a few seconds, trying to figure out how to move him without causing more damage, then she turned and headed for her bedroom.

She spread the blanket on the floor beside Spike then maneuvered him onto it as gently as she could. Once she’d gotten him laid on his back, she clenched her teeth and forced herself to examine the damage. His abdomen was a bloodied mess. There were four pieces of couch sticking into him like he was a pin cushion and there were several holes left from the other pieces that were still attached to the couch. His balls were swollen to nearly twice their normal size from the battering they’d received; the skin stretched tautly over them, making them look like a skin-covered softball sitting between Spike’s legs. Dark purple bruises were forming on one side of his flaccid penis and it was curving abnormally. There was also a chopstick-sized piece of wood stuck completely through it near the base, making it look like a hot dog ready for a campfire.

Buffy bolted for the kitchen and had a quick ‘discussion’ with the trash can. When everything that was going to come up had come up, she stood and leaned against the counter, her stomach still pitching and rolling, and tried to get her mind to stop wigging out so she could think. 

She had two vampires to handle; one she loved and one who was dust and just didn’t know it yet. Angelus was secured, silenced, and not going to be any trouble for the foreseeable future, so she put him out of her mind and focused on Spike. There wasn’t really anything she could do for his genitals, aside from taking the wood out of his penis and using ice packs to help with the swelling, so the first thing she had to do was separate vampire from couch. She’d have to check to see if there were any small pieces broken off inside him, too. She wasn’t sure if leaving a small piece of wood inside him was dangerous or not, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. Wood and vampires were not a good combination; you know, if it was a vampire you loved and wanted to keep around. And then she’d need to close up the holes so they’d stop leaking blood and heal faster. She could try that little silver stick on those and see if it worked, but if it didn’t, she’d need to stitch them closed.

To do all that, she needed supplies. Her dinky little household first aid kit wasn’t going to cut it. Not for this. Especially the looking around inside Spike’s guts for pieces of wood part of the process. But if Giles found out what she was about to do… He was extremely tight-fisted with the Council’s money, and if he knew she was thinking of using their expensive new equipment to save Spike, well…shitting kittens would be a pretty accurate description of his reaction. So she needed to call someone who wouldn’t blab to Giles about what was going on, someone who could come and go from the Slayer Compound without anyone batting an eye, and someone who had been trained to use the equipment she was going to ask them to steal… er… uh… borrow. She needed to call Dawn.

She’d swished out her mouth and was wiping her face with a hand towel when she heard three hard knocks on her front door. She turned in that direction just as Paolo’s frightened voice called out, “Miss Summers? Are you in there? Do you need help?”

Buffy hurried to the living room and opened the front door. She started to say that she was fine, but the words died on her lips when Paolo paled, then blushed, then turned around. Buffy stared at his back in confusion for a few seconds then looked down at herself. She was wearing nothing but blood and a torn open shirt. She wrapped the shirt around herself then stepped behind the door, poking her head around it. “Okay, you can turn around. Sorry about that.”

Paolo turned, keeping his eyes on the floor in front of his feet, and said quietly, “Are you all right, Miss Summers? I’ve had reports of screaming and loud banging noises coming from your apartment and you look like you’ve been injured.”

“I’m fine. Things just got a little… never mind. It’s over now and there won’t be any more noise. Did anyone call the Polizia? Because I really don’t need a bunch of normals poking their noses in here right now.” 

“I don’t think so, Miss Summers. I assured everyone that I would investigate the situation and if the authorities were needed, then I would be the one to call, but if they arrive, I will tell them you were moving furniture and it fell over. That should be sufficient to satisfy their curiosity and they’ll be on their way. Is there anything else I can do?”

Buffy glanced at Spike then looked back at the man who was still staring at the floor. “Thank you for that, and um… yeah, you can do something. My sister is going to be here in a little while and she’ll probably need help carrying some stuff up here.”

XXXX

Buffy had managed to move Spike to her bedroom and had gotten him laid out on a thick pad of blankets on the floor. She’d thought about putting him in her bed again, but hadn’t for two reasons – A. She didn’t want to hurt him any worse by picking him up, and B. She wanted to wait until he’d stopped bleeding all over the place.

After she’d gotten Spike settled, she’d removed the manacles from her wrists and ankles then had taken a quick shower to wash off the blood. The punctures in her nipples had scabbed over – thank you, Slayer healing – but they still throbbed with every beat of her heart, and any movement of her breasts caused shooting pain. She’d put on a sports bra to help hold them still and had lined the cups with some folded gauze just in case they started bleeding again. 

Once she’d cleaned herself up and had thrown on a clean pair of sweats, she’d gathered supplies and started trying to clean Spike up. She’d only worked on his front half and as much of his legs as she could reach without moving him too much, deciding to save the rolling him over until all the wood had been removed from his abdomen. The little silver stick had worked well on the scratches, gouges, and smaller punctures – including the two in Spike’s penis – but the larger puncture wounds were too much for it. Those were still leaking blood and Spike’s skin was getting sort of ashy from blood loss, but until Dawn arrived, all she could do was pack them lightly with some gauze. She didn’t want to take the chance of driving any errant pieces of wood further into him and she also didn’t want to go digging around trying to find them. She just had to wait until Dawn got there with the machine.

She was wiggling the second to last shard of wood free when she heard her front door open and Dawn’s voice call out, “Buffy?”

“I’m in the bedroom, Dawn. Lock the door, will you?”

There was the thump of something being set on the floor then Dawn said, “Thanks, Paolo,” and the door closed. The locks clicked into place then Dawn shouted, “Holy shit! Angel? What’s all this blood from? What happened to your couch? What the hell is going on in here?” Dawn’s footsteps hurried toward the bedroom and Buffy draped a hand towel over Spike’s mangled groin just as Dawn stepped through the door, weighed down by a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a large plastic case hanging from one hand.

“I brought the stuff…” She slid to a halt and the case thumped to the floor. “What the hell happened to Spike?” 

“Angelus happened. I’ll fill you in later. Right now I need you to set up the machine. You do know how to use it, right?”

Dawn picked up the case and stepped fully into the room. She slipped the duffel off her shoulder then laid the plastic case on its side and flipped open the latches. “Yes, Buffy. I spent three days training on it and I’ve practiced on half a dozen different Slayers. What am I looking for?”

Buffy motioned to the largest piece of wood that was still sticking out of Spike’s abdomen. “Pieces of my couch. I got all the big pieces except this one – it’s stuck – but I want to make sure there aren’t little pieces still in there. If I missed one and it moves or something and gets to his heart…” She nodded toward a pile of blood bags on the floor next to Spike’s shoulder. “We also need to set up an IV to get some blood into him, but we can’t do that until the holes are stitched up or it’ll just leak back out. And you brought the tubing or whatever you’ll need so I can get my blood into him, right?”

Dawn nodded as she lifted a portable ultrasound machine out of the case and set it on the floor beside Spike. “Yeah. I grabbed two field surgery kits, so I should have everything we need.” She plugged the machine in then flipped a few switches, pressed a few buttons, and picked up the wand. She reached into the case and fished out a bottle then handed it to Buffy. “Here. Move all that gauze then squirt some of this anywhere you want me to look and smear it around.”

Buffy took the bottle and looked down at Spike’s belly. “Uh… he’ll start bleeding again…”

Dawn shrugged. “Shouldn’t matter. The gel is just to help the transducer transmit the sound waves. Mixing it with blood shouldn’t hurt anything.” She nodded at the hand towel. “You’ll have to move that, too. That last piece looks like it’s angled down behind his pubic bone and I’ll have to put the transducer on his perineum to see what it’s stuck on.”

Buffy looked over at her younger sister and blushed slightly. Dawn rolled her eyes. “I’m not gonna play with anything, dufus. His junk is all yours.”

Buffy sputtered, “Dawnie!”

Dawn rolled her eyes again. “What? Oh… you think my innocence will be lost if I see Spike’s man-meat. His tube steak. His third leg, pleasure pickle, glowing sword of truth, beef missile… Um, Buffy, your face is getting kind of red.”

Buffy’s jaw had started to drop at the first euphemism and was now nearly to her chest. She sputtered again, “His glowing sword of what!?”

Dawn snickered, “Truth.” She shrugged. “I read it somewhere.” She knelt on the floor next to Buffy and reached for the towel. “I’m not a kid anymore, you know, and Spike’s schlong won’t be the first one I’ve seen. Yes, I’ve had sex, Buffy. Lots of sex. Wild and freaky sex. Deal.”

Buffy muttered, “I so don’t need to know that, Dawnie. So don’t need to know that.”

Dawn sighed. “Besides, I haven’t thought about Spike like that for a long time. He’s like my big brother, and yeah, seeing his junk is going to be weird and awkward, but he needs my help, so I’ll get over it.” Dawn lifted the towel away then dropped it with a gasp. “His dick is broken! How’d that happen? And his balls! Oh my God! What the hell went on here?”

Buffy squeaked, “Broken? What? He’s broken?”

Dawn looked at her sister. Buffy’s face had gone from beet red to deathly pale and she was trembling. Dawn wrapped an arm around Buffy’s shoulders and set the ultrasound wand on the floor. “Buffy, breathe or something.”

Buffy’s voice was shaking when she asked quietly, “Will he be okay? Oh God, what did I do to him?”


	31. Remembering

Service Unit  
Chapter Thirty One – Remembering

Dawn leaned back and scrutinized Buffy’s face. “You did this? I thought you’d outgrown your ‘beat Spike to a pulp’ phase.”

“I have, Dawnie! I didn’t do this…” Buffy looked down at her knees. “… not physically, anyway, but it’s my fault it happened. It’s my fault he’s hurt. He was trying to protect me from Angelus and…”

Dawn squeezed once then let go. “And you’ll fill me in later. Right now I need you to focus. Let’s just get Spike fixed up, okay?”

Buffy nodded and started picking the little tufts of gauze out of the holes in Spike, trying not to let her gaze wander to his penis. She failed. She looked up at Dawn. “It’s broken?”

Dawn nodded then shrugged. “Well, not technically. There’s no actual bone in there, just these tubes that fill with blood when he gets hard. One of those is ruptured and the blood is leaking out into the tissues. If he was human, he’d probably need surgery to fix it and it might not work right after, but since he isn’t... He’ll heal, Buffy, we just have to keep him fed and he’ll heal. That’s what vampires do.”

“How do you know so much about it?”

“What? Vampires or penises? If it’s penises, I looked them up. I research stuff, Buffy, that’s what I do. If it’s vampires, well… I need to talk to you about that, but not right now. Let’s work on Spike first.”

XXXX

There had only been two small shards of wood inside Spike and Dawn had carefully removed them with a pair of forceps, using the ultrasound to guide her. The wood had pretty much shredded his intestines, though, tearing gaping holes in the delicate tissues, and his bladder had been skewered by the largest piece. It had been driven nearly all the way through him, only being stopped from poking out the back because it had hit his tailbone. It had taken both of them to remove it, with Dawn holding Spike’s hips firmly against the pad and Buffy standing over him, pulling with a steady upward motion.

The ultrasound also revealed something else inside him. Several something elses, in fact, but neither one knew what they were until Buffy wiped the blood off and examined them. They were about half the size of a regular toothpick and had barbed tips that were leaking some kind of clear fluid. A drop of the fluid dripped onto Spike’s thigh and his skin started to smoke. Buffy quickly washed it off – leaving a nickel-sized burn mark – then clapped a hand over her mouth and bolted from the room. Dawn listened to her retch into the toilet for several minutes before she reappeared, pale and shaking. “What are they, Buffy?”

Buffy sank to her knees next to Spike and reached for his hand. “I’m not sure, because the picture was kind of small, but they look like the barbs on the penises of his last renters. They must have gotten knocked loose while they were… or maybe they’re supposed to fall off when they… come… or something. That must be why he was still in pain. Those things were floating around inside him, poking him and leaking that holy water type stuff, pretty much eating him up from the inside.” Buffy looked up at Dawn. “You’re sure you got them all, right?”

Dawn swallowed hard and nodded, her face a slightly greenish shade. “Yeah. I did two sweeps and didn’t find any more, but I’ll check again if you want.”

Buffy bit her lip and looked down at Spike then back up at Dawn. “Would you? Please? Just to make sure.”

Dawn nodded again and picked up the transducer. She adjusted a few dials on the machine then got to work. She sat back fifteen minutes later and turned the machine off. “Didn’t see anything. He’s clear.” She started digging in the duffel bag. “And now I think it’s time for the ‘filling Dawn in’ part of the day. You told me Spike had been captured and his demon was missing and it was Angel’s fault, but you never said anything about pictures, penis barbs, or renters, so you seriously need to explain that. Like right now. Okay?”

Buffy got up and fetched the small trash can from beside the bed then set it down next to Dawn. “Okay, but you’ll probably need this.”

They set about stitching him up. Dawn showed Buffy how to use a suture needle and they started carefully closing the holes, talking as they did. Buffy told Dawn everything that had happened since Spike had been delivered to her – including a brief description of Spike’s time as a slave – and Dawn used the small trash can three times. 

“And that brings us to right now.” Buffy tied off the suture thread and clipped it with the small scissors. She looked over Spike’s belly and noticed that Dawn’s suture needle was lying unused, attached to the thread that was partly closing the largest hole. Buffy looked up at her sister. “Why’d you stop?”

Dawn was sitting back on her feet with her hands clenched into fists as she tried to get her anger under control. “Angelus is so dead. And if that little trainer asshole wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him myself. And I’d make it hurt.”

Buffy looked down at the last puncture wound on her side of Spike’s stomach and poked the needle into his skin. “You and me both, but you’ll have to take a number for Angelus. Spike has first dibs, and then me.”

“What are you going to do with him until Spike’s better?”

Buffy shrugged. “Leave him exactly where he is. We don’t need him for the ritual anymore since Spike’s demon is back, and my blood will heal Spike and make him strong again, so basically, Angelus is just a prisoner on death row waiting for the executioner to come off sick leave.”

Dawn nodded and picked up her needle then started back to work. “Okay. Um… about your blood. How much have you given Spike so far?”

Buffy paused her suturing for a few seconds as she thought about it. “He’s had five full mugs of blood, but I mixed the first few, so…” She calculated how much of **her** blood she’d given to Spike. “Uh… three and a half mugs of me. Why?”

“Well, that’s part of what I need to talk to you about. You’ve called me twice since Spike got here and both times triggered something. Memories. Stuff the monks planted, I guess, because they technically never happened. I wasn’t even here yet.”

“What things?”

“The first call brought up memories of when Spike was working with Adam. He gave those encrypted disks to Willow, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, after your phone call, I was heading out to get the stuff you wanted and all of a sudden I remembered sneaking onto Willow’s laptop to look at the files while you guys were storming the Initiative. There was a lot of stuff about the experiments they did on vampires.” Buffy’s hands froze and she looked up at Spike’s face. Dawn hurried to continue, “Not Spike. At least I don’t think so. Hostile 17 wasn’t listed as one of the test subjects in the files I looked at.”

Buffy resumed suturing then tied off the thread, clipped it, and sat up. “What kind of experiments did they do?”

“Mostly to see how much damage a vampire could heal from. They found out that a vampire could have about forty percent of his body mass removed and it would eventually grow back. No matter what parts were removed… even the brain. More than forty percent was too much and the vampire would dust. They also tested what kinds of damage they could heal. Gunshot wounds, acid, holy water, stakes, metal bars, fire, breaking every bone in their body, being crushed, being boiled, being frozen… you name it, they did it.”

Buffy shuddered. “God, I’m glad we shut that place down. Killing vampires is one thing, but that? That’s just wrong.” She shuddered again then took a deep breath. “So what did the sick bastards find out?”

“The parts that are still there will heal. The parts that are missing will grow back as long as they’re under the forty percent threshold. They concluded that whatever force animates a vampire works to restore their body to the condition it was in at the time they were turned. Like a reset button. The more damage there is, the longer it takes to reset, but eventually it will happen.”

Buffy dropped her suture needle into the trash can then started picking up the bits of thread and gauze that were scattered around. “Okay. That’s interesting information and everything, but Spike wasn’t hurt that bad when I called you the first time, so I’m not sure what it has to do with anything or why the monks would have you remember it now.”

Dawn shrugged as she tied off the suture thread and clipped it. “I don’t know, either. All I can think of is that they knew something like this would happen, or maybe the Powers had a hand in it.” She motioned to the neat sutures sprinkled across Spike’s abdomen. “If I hadn’t remembered the stuff in the Initiative files, I would have seen all that damage inside him and called someone to come repair it.”

“Which he doesn’t need because he’ll just… reset. We only needed to close the holes so when we get blood into him it doesn’t leak back out.”

“Right. So maybe we’re on some kind of timetable that we don’t know about yet, and taking the time to find someone willing to come over here to open him up and fix everything would have messed that timetable up.”

Buffy sighed. “Great. If the Powers are behind this, then why can’t they just send a note or something? ‘To Whom it May Concern, the next apocalypse is happening nowish and here’s what you need to do,’ but no, they just keep with the cryptic and leave us to figure out what the hell’s going on.” 

Dawn gazed sadly at Spike’s face as she said quietly, “Or maybe they made me remember because they thought Spike had suffered enough.”

Buffy’s eyes blazed. “Then why didn’t they do something when he was in that other dimension? Everything he went through over there while he was fully conscious isn’t as bad as someone doing surgery on him when he’s knocked out? How does that even make sense?” Buffy snorted. “The Powers care sooo much about what happens to Spike that they just left him there. Fucking assholes.”

“They probably don’t have any say in what happens in other dimensions.”

Buffy shrugged. “Maybe they don’t, but they could’ve stopped him from being sent there in the first place. He’s a Champion, dammit! And when Angelus showed up here? If they don’t want Spike to suffer, then why didn’t they smack me or something when I decided to let him loose? Why’d they let him lie to me and why’d they let me believe him?”

Dawn sighed. “It could have nothing to do with the Powers, Buffy; I was just throwing out ideas. Maybe the monks just locked those memories and I had to hear the right words in the right order to unlock them. Like a password. And they wouldn’t unlock until I needed them for something.”

Buffy reached up and pressed the heels of her hands against her temples, wincing a little at the pressure on her left one. “God… we could sit here trying to figure this out all night and it would get us nowhere. If it’s the monks, fine. If it’s the Powers, fine. Whatever. It’s done. If I’m supposed to stop another apocalypse then something will happen to tell me that, so let’s just forget the why you’re remembering stuff and get to the what you’re remembering.” She lowered her hands and took a deep, calming breath then dipped a clean washcloth into the washtub and started dabbing at Spike’s stomach, cleaning the blood and ultrasound gel off his skin. “What did my second call trigger or unlock or whatever? More Initiative crap?”

Dawn scooted back and leaned against the bed. “No. That one was me looking through Giles’ Watcher diary after Angel nearly drained you.”

Buffy stopped sponging off Spike’s belly and looked over at Dawn with wide eyes. “You’ve read it? He let you?”

Dawn chuckled. “ **Let** might be too strong a word. More like _‘didn’t know then and doesn’t know now,’_ and if you tell him, I’ll kick you.”

Buffy laughed quietly. “Don’t worry, I won’t subject you to the lecture and the stern, disappointed looks. And anyway, it didn’t really happen. It’s not like you read it after you got here.” Dawn shifted guiltily and Buffy gasped. “You have?”

Dawn shrugged. “Maybe.” Buffy quirked an eyebrow and Dawn smirked. “Okay. Yes. I’ve read the whole thing… well, up until the Sunnydale crater entry. I haven’t read past that because now it’s in England and I’m not.”

Buffy laughed quietly again. “You’ll have to tell me about it some time. What did the part say that my phone call unlocked?”

“Giles was worried because you’d willingly given your blood to Angel, and since you loved him, if you kept giving it to him, it would bind you together. Forever. Or at least until the Council killed you or dusted Angel.”

Buffy’s eyes widened and she looked down at Spike. “That’s what he was trying to tell me.”

“Spike knows?”

Buffy shrugged. “I think so. He wanted to tell me about blood bonds, but his throat was too sore for him to talk that much, so I told him to wait.” She looked over at Dawn. “You tell me about it.”

“I only know what Giles wrote down, and I’ve pretty much already told you. If a Slayer freely gives her blood to a vampire she loves, they’re bound together forever.”

“How much blood? Did he say?”

“The Council doesn’t know for sure, but Giles guessed it would be about how much the Slayer’s body holds, and a body your size would be roughly six pints.”

“How much is that in American?”

Dawn rolled her eyes and said drily, “That is American and it’s about three quarts.”

Buffy ignored the tone of her sister’s voice. “Okay. So how does a vampire bond to a dead Slayer? If he takes all her blood…”

“It can’t be taken all at once, well… for that reason. She’d be dead. It has to be freely given several times and once they hit the right amount, they’re bound. How big are the mugs you used?”

Buffy stood up. “Hang on and I’ll tell you.”

Dawn nodded and started digging in the duffel bag while Buffy was gone. When she stepped back into the bedroom, Spike had three ice packs wrapped in hand towels placed strategically around his genitals and Dawn was sponging the rest of the blood and gel off his stomach.

“They each hold two cups, so he’s had seven cups of Buffy.”

Dawn dropped the soiled washcloth into the tub and dried her hands. “So it’ll only take about five more cups to bind you two, if Giles was right.” Dawn watched as Buffy knelt next to Spike and took his hand in hers. “Do you want that, Buffy?”

Buffy looked up at Dawn and nodded forcefully. “Yes.”

“Does Spike?”

Buffy looked back down at the unconscious vampire and whispered, “I don’t know.”

Dawn turned to the duffel bag. “Then maybe we should wait on giving him your blood until the demon lets Spike come back so you guys can talk. He’ll heal okay on regular human; it’ll just take a little longer.” Dawn pulled out an IV kit and nodded toward the blood bags. “Find some way to hang one of those. I didn’t bring a stand.”

XXXX

Spike cowered in the dark, his arms wrapped around his head. Something tapped hard on the largest bruise on his naked back and he jumped, turning and twisting as he tried to locate it. A vicious cackle sounded from somewhere off to his right and he scuttled away from it until he hit a wall. He pressed himself into the rough stone surface, once again covering his head.

The cackling came nearer and changed to an evil whisper, “She doesn’t want you anymore. She hates you now for what you did.”

Spike shook his head and murmured, “No.”

The voice hissed, “Yessss.”

Spike turned away, pressing his other side to the wall as he clapped his hands over his ears. “No. She got free. She used it to get free and she got him, she did. She saved me. I remember her saving me.”

“She saved herself. She hates you. She’s going to kill you. And you deserve it. I hope she makes it hurt before you die. For a long time.”

Spike started shaking his head so fiercely that it bounced off the wall. “No, she wouldn’t. She’s not like that.”

“Yes, she is. And her sister will help. She’s here. She came to help kill you because of what you did to her. They both hate you now.” A feather light touch brushed down Spike’s back and he pulled away, but he couldn’t avoid the solid kick that hit him square between the shoulder blades an instant later. It sent him flying and he landed hard then curled into a ball as he tried to protect himself from more kicks. He also covered his ears, but he couldn’t block out the voice. It continued in that low whisper, telling him how worthless he was, that he deserved pain, that everyone he loved hated him and that they were going to take pleasure in killing him. 

Uposs stood over the battered form at his feet then launched another kick at his head before he squatted down. “It shouldn’t be long now until they kill you. I’ll keep you here with me and have some fun until then, but don’t worry, I’ll send you back in time to feel **everything** they do to you. Everything.”


	32. Laughter

Service Unit  
Chapter Thirty Two – Laughter

The demon’s eyes opened slowly and Buffy waited until they’d focused on her before she smiled down at him. “Hey. How are you doing?” He started to sit up and Buffy pressed lightly on his shoulder. “Don’t move, okay? You’re still pretty banged up, but we got all the wood out of you and cleaned you up the best we could. The stone wasn’t due to wear off for a couple of hours, but I thought I’d wake you up early and see if you wanted some blood.”

She reached over to the night stand and lifted a large mug that had a bendy straw sticking out of it. “I’ve fed Spike like this, so I hope you know how to work one of these.” She held the mug close to his face and he eagerly wrapped his lips around the straw and sucked. Buffy’s smile widened. “Guess you do.” She lightly touched the IV tubing that was taped to his forearm. “We’ve been trying to give you blood like this, but the whole no circulation thing is kind of working against us.”

The demon cut his eyes to his arm then looked back up at her face, smiling around the straw, and Buffy laughed quietly, “Yeah, I’m an idiot, I know. You don’t have to rub it in.” She waited until he’d finished then plopped the straw into a second mug and held it for him as she reached out and gently rubbed at the fuzz on his head. “This is a special treat, too. Since I can’t give you my blood until I talk to Spike, I found something almost as good.”

The demon looked at the mug of blood then stopped sucking and held some in his mouth, rolling it around. He swallowed then started sucking even more eagerly and Buffy giggled. “Yeah, it’s Sire’s blood. He wasn’t all that happy about bleeding for the cause, but it’s stronger and better for you than normal human blood, so he can just deal with being your juice box.”

The straw went into the third mug and it was emptied in short order with much satisfied smacking of the demon’s lips. Buffy set the mug on the night stand as she asked, “Want more?” He shook his head then looked at her hand. His eyes were pleading when they settled on hers again. “You want me to pet you some more?” He smiled, the tips of his fangs peeking out from under his top lip, and Buffy rested her hand on his head and started to stroke his hair. “You’re like a big cat, aren’t you?” She giggled when he started purring and pushing his head into her hand. “Yeah, just like a big cat.”

She petted him for a while, and when his eyelids started to droop she asked quietly, “How’s Spike? Do you know if he’s okay?” The demon opened his eyes all the way and frowned, shaking his head slightly. “He’s not okay?” 

The demon snarled quietly and a look of intense concentration settled onto his face. Buffy stopped petting him and waited while he tried to do whatever it was he was trying to do. Finally, a voice sounded from his throat, but Buffy couldn’t quite make out what he’d said. It was like Spike’s voice, but deeper, rougher, more guttural, and she whispered, “Can you say that again? I didn’t get it.”

The demon screwed up his face in concentration again and grunted out one word, “Trapped.”

XXXX

Buffy undid the straps holding the ball gag in place then removed it. Angelus stretched his jaw then licked his lips and sneered up at her. “Not bleeding me this time, huh? Decide you want to play instead?” He licked his lips again then looked pointedly at her crotch. “Just put that gag down and climb on up here. I promise I won’t bite… much. Just enough to replace the blood you stole to feed that worthless little shit.”

“Ew… God. No. And stop whining about the blood, you big baby. After what you did to him, giving him your blood so he can heal is the least you can do. And you’re going to keep doing it, so suck it up.” She dropped the gag on the floor and crossed her arms over her chest, holding back the wince when they touched her still sore breasts. “I’m here to ask you some questions, and if you don’t help me or I think you’re lying to me, then I’ll punch you in the nuts. And if you keep lying or not helping, then I’ll keep punching.”

Angelus looked at her for a few long minutes, weighing the sincerity of her words, then he sighed and tipped his head back. “Questions about what?”

“Vampire demons.”

He lifted his head and peered at her. “What about them?”

Buffy backed up and sat down on the chair she’d brought from the dining room. “Well, when you lost your soul and went evil, were you full demon or was some of your human side there, too?”

“I was full demon.” He sneered again. “Your tight little pussy squeezed all the humanity right out of me even though you had no clue what you were doing.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Nice try, but I’m not seventeen anymore.” She smirked. “And I didn’t know what I was doing?” She pointed at him. “Pot. Kettle. Black.” She shrugged. “At least it didn’t last very long. Now Spike, on the other hand, should have a cape or something. He’s Mr. Stamina Man. Hours and hours.” She smiled at his offended snarling then nodded toward his groin. “Back to my question. And keep to the point or I start punching. Your demon can talk. Full conversations, complete with threats and everything.”

Angelus stopped snarling when he realized he wasn’t going to get a rise out of her that way and sighed, “Yeah. So?”

“So why can’t Spike’s? He’s aware and he understands me, but he can’t speak except for a few words. Why?”

Angelus threw his head back and laughed. “Because his demon is useless! Weak and useless!” Buffy stood, balling her hand into a fist, and Angelus choked down his laughter then squeaked, “No! I’ll tell you!” 

Buffy sat back down and laid her fist on her thigh. “So tell me.”

Angelus sighed. “Vampire demons come in all shapes and sizes. No two are exactly the same…” He smirked. “We’re all special… like snowflakes.” Buffy clenched her fist tighter and Angelus hurried to continue. “Think of them like those ‘Evolution of Man’ charts. You’ve got Neanderthals at one end and modern man at the other. They’re all bipedal and intelligent in their own way, but they’re worlds apart in their abilities. Spike’s demon is from the caveman side of the chart and mine is from the modern man side. Mine can speak, reason, plan, and execute. It can function in a modern world. His can do what’s necessary to survive, but that’s pretty much it. It’s nonverbal except for basic words, and it has no planning capabilities at all. It relies on the leftover humanity to navigate its world, but without it, like I said before; it’s nothing but instinct and base desires.”

“Okay. He said that Spike’s trapped. Trapped where?”

Angelus’ brow furrowed for a few seconds then he sneered. “Awww, did little Willy fall down the rabbit hole?”

Buffy gave no warning this time. She stood and punched in one fluid motion then calmly sat back down and examined her nails while Angelus wheezed and coughed. When he’d regained some measure of control, she said quietly, “That’s one. The next time you say something unhelpful or untrue; there will be two, and then three… You see where I’m going with this?”

He coughed out, “Yeah, I get it,” then took a deep breath. “You’re more like me than you care to admit, aren’t you?”

Buffy scowled. “No. I’m not. I don’t enjoy this, but I’ll do it if I have to. That’s where we’re different. You like hurting people. I don’t.”

Angelus snorted. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Buffy rolled her eyes impatiently. “Just tell me what I want to know.” She curled her hand into a fist and thumped it once on her thigh. “Or else.”

Angelus eyed her then swallowed. “Okay. Uh… it sounds like his mind has been fractured. I don’t really know how to explain it, but… okay, um… Spike has a demon, his humanity, and a soul – three individual entities that usually work together… or at least co-exist in equal measure – but now it sounds like his humanity has withdrawn and left his demon in charge of things.”

“So where’s his soul?”

Angelus shrugged, forgetting about the chains and clamps for a moment, then he winced and shot Buffy a glare. “I have no idea. When he broke during training, his demon withdrew, leaving his humanity… and probably his soul… to bear the torture. Now that his demon is out front… maybe that’s why it’s so docile. The soul is controlling it.”

“So how do I get his humanity to come back?”

“I don’t know.” Buffy stood and Angelus recoiled as much as he was able as he squawked, “I swear! I don’t know!”

Buffy smiled and bent to pick up the gag off the floor then she held it up. “Open up like a good boy.”

Angelus moved his head back as far as he could. “I told you what you wanted to know. I helped you.”

“And look how I’m not punching you in the nuts. I never said anything about the gag.”

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?” 

Buffy shrugged and said, “Yeah, that’s not really news,” as Angelus reluctantly opened his mouth. She seated the ball and tightened the straps then patted Angelus on the head. “Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy!”

He jerked his head away from her and glared as she laughed and turned away. She stepped into the hall and Dawn fell into step beside her. They went into Buffy’s bedroom and took up positions on the bed, one on either side of Spike. Buffy lifted his hand and held it in her lap then looked over at Dawn. “You get all that?”

Dawn nodded as she leaned down and lifted a square of gauze, checking the puncture wound underneath. “Yeah. Still don’t know why I couldn’t be the one to punch him, though.”

Buffy sighed. “I know he knows you’re here, but I don’t feel like dealing with all the crap he’d say the minute he saw you. Okay? Can we just keep my baby sister away from the disgusting, perverted vampire? Please?”

“How’s he going to talk if you’ve got him gagged?”

“Ugh… so not the point, Dawn. Can you humor me just this once? I know it’s hard…”

Dawn rolled her eyes then huffed, “Fine. I’ll stay away from the perv.” She patted the gauze down carefully and sat up. “So we sort of know where Spike is, but we have no idea how to get him back. What Angelus said made it sound like Spike did this to himself, but his demon said that Spike’s trapped. How could he trap himself?”

Buffy’s brow furrowed then her eyes widened and she blurted out, “It’s his slave training that’s trapping him! Spike’s been fighting it since he came back to himself. He made it sound like a drill sergeant or something, someone yelling at him all the time, telling him what to do…”

Dawn jumped on the train of thought, “And if Spike already has three people, or things, or whatever inside his head, then why couldn’t he have one more?”

Buffy nodded. “Now all we have to do is figure out how to make it let Spike out.”

Dawn nodded to the collar Spike still wore. “It thinks you’re his owner, right? So order it to let Spike out.”

Buffy frowned at the collar. “How? Tell the demon? I don’t think he’s under the control of the training. He’s been in hiding pretty much the whole time, so he probably doesn’t have any sway. The demon may not even know how to talk to, or interact with, or even find the training, you know?”

Dawn nodded. “Yeah, but maybe you could talk to the training now, while the demon is… Wait, is he unconscious or asleep? Did you use the stone again?”

Buffy shook her head. “No, he’s just sleeping.”

“Where’s the stone?”

Buffy fished it out of the pocket of her sweats. “Right here. Why?”

Dawn took it and touched it to the base of the demon’s skull. His body relaxed even further and Dawn looked over at Buffy. “Okay, so with the demon kind of out of the way right now, maybe you could talk to Spike’s subconscious or whatever, like hypnosis or subliminal messaging. I read somewhere that you can get someone to quit smoking if you whisper it to them over and over while they’re asleep. I thought about trying it on Andrew to get him to be just a little less annoying… and it could be bullshit, but… it’s not like we’re sitting in a soft, fluffy pile of options.”

Buffy shrugged. “It’s worth a shot, I guess. Can’t really screw things up any worse, can I? What should I say?”

“Say that you want Spike out here right fucking now. Be forceful. Be mean if you have to. Threaten it with punishment.” Buffy blanched then looked down at the relaxed features of the demon and Dawn reached across him and grasped her hand. “Put some Slayer behind it, Buffy. Get mad.” 

“Get mad. Be forceful. Right.” Buffy nodded and started to lean down. 

Dawn whispered, “I’ll watch, and if anything changes, like his demon starts to recede or he blinks or anything, I’ll wake him up. It won’t do any good to call Spike out if he gets stuck in an unconscious body.”

Buffy nodded. “Okay. That’s a good idea,” then she muttered, “Get mad. Be forceful,” under her breath as she placed her lips next to Spike’s ear. She closed her eyes for a brief second then said in a low, menacing voice, “You get out here right now, slave. You hear me? I want to be serviced and I’m tired of waiting.”

XXXX

Uposs let his foot fly out, smiling when it contacted Spike in the kidney, then he stood back. Spike was huddled on the ground in front of him, bloodied and battered, but he’d stopped trying to protect himself or cover his ears. Now he just grunted every time a kick landed and flinched at the harsh words still being whispered to him.

Uposs started to lift his foot for a stomp then stopped and looked up, surprise on his face. “Well, well… looks like she’s going to keep you after all. For a little while, anyway.” He reached down and hefted Spike to his feet. Spike wobbled quite a bit, but didn’t fall, and Uposs shoved at his back. “Get moving. Your owner wants service and she wants it now.” He shoved again, causing Spike to stumble, and then he laughed. “Guess she wants to get some use out of you before she kills you. Wonder if her sister is going to watch?”

Spike shook his head, trying to clear it, or at least make some kind of sense out of what Uposs had just said. _Buffy wants me to service her? But she said she **didn’t** want me to. She said she loved me._ His shoulders slumped as he trudged along. _Selling Niblet out to Liam must have been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Uposs is right._

XXXX

Buffy looked up at Dawn and mouthed, “Well? Anything?”

Dawn shook her head and raised a hand, clenching it into a fist as she mouthed back, “Threaten it!”

Buffy grimaced and nodded then placed her lips at Spike’s ear again. “You’ve got ten seconds to get out here or I’ll flay the skin from your back! You’ll think your trainer’s punishments were a cake walk by the time I’m done!”

XXXX

Uposs laughed as he pushed Spike along in front of him. “Sounds like you’re in for it now. She’s tired of waiting and she’s getting ready to whip the skin off your carcass. Guess you shouldn’t have hung around here so long.” He reached out and stopped Spike’s forward progress then spun him around. “Time to service your owner.” He laughed again. “Don’t know how you’re going to manage it with your dick the way it is, but… guess there’s always your mouth. You’d better do a good job, too. I can’t be there to keep you in line with that damn demon on the loose, but I’ll bring you back here when you’re done, and if you screw this up, I’ll show you what happens when you defy me.”

He reared back and punched Spike hard in the jaw and Spike flew backwards into the darkness, followed by the sound of cackling laughter.


	33. Numbered

I am insanely sorry for how long it’s been since I’ve updated this story. My only excuse is that life has been doing to me what Liam did to Spike… sans lube. So yeah… anyway, here’s a new chapter. Yay! I have two more completed after this one, then I’m kinda stuck, but I am working on this and hope to have it completed by the end of this year. No promises or anything, because, you know… life, but I’ll try.

Service Unit  
Chapter Thirty Three – Numbered

Spike tumbled through the darkness, bouncing and rolling along the floor toward a bright, searing wall of light. He slammed up against it, the force of the impact jarring his entire body and making his injuries scream. He lay there for a few seconds, trying to convince himself that all of this was in his head. That it was just his mind playing tricks and that none of it was real. There were no injuries, there was no light, there was no wall… there was no sodding spoon. He chuckled bitterly then shakily pulled himself up and stood, one hand braced against the wall as he tried to get his bearings.

All of it sure felt real enough. It had felt real when Uposs was kicking him. The stomps had felt real, too. And the words. Those had felt completely real, and they’d hurt the most, cutting him right to the bone even though he’d tried not to let them in. He didn’t want to believe the vile tripe Uposs was spouting, but… No. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. Could it? 

The wall suddenly disappeared and he was tumbling again.

XXXX

There was a low crunching of bone when the demon's brow ridges started to smooth out and Dawn slipped her hand under his neck to touch the stone to the base of his skull. "Buffy! I think it's working! Look!"

Buffy sat up and they both watched as the demon’s visage melted into Spike's handsome features. Buffy reached out and ran her fingertips lightly down Spike's cheek as his eyelids fluttered. "I just hope we didn't drive the demon away again. Spike needs him." She clenched her hand into a fist and said in an angry whisper, “Spike and his demon both better be fine or Angelus is going to have a very bad fucking day.”

Spike opened his eyes, squinting against the light until he could get them to focus. When they did, he froze. Buffy was staring down at him and he could read the anger on her face and hear it in her voice when she asked, “Spike? Are you back?”

His stomach knotted and then sank like a stone. _It’s all true. Everything he said. It’s all true. She hates me._

Buffy leaned closer, peering at his face. “Say something.”

Spike immediately dropped his eyes away from hers, focusing instead on the wall across the room, and murmured, "Yes, Mistress, I’m back, and I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. Which position would you like me to assume so that you may punish me for my tardiness?"

Buffy looked over at Dawn, her anger growing by leaps and bounds. “And he’s not fine. He’s apparently back to square fucking one. Looks like there’s a bad fucking day coming right up. I’m going to kill him. Hurt him and then kill him.”

Dawn had noticed Spike flinch and try to cringe away from Buffy’s angry words and she said quietly, “You’re scaring Spike.”

Buffy looked back down at Spike. He was trembling. She started to reach for his chin, intending to lift his face a little so she could look him in the eyes, but when her hand moved into his line of sight, he flinched again then whispered, "Please, Mistress. I'm sorry for what I did to Dawn. He said you both hate me now – I didn’t want to believe it – but he was right. I’m sorry. Just please… let me service you. I'll do my best, I promise, I’ll do whatever you want for as long as you want… before you… before you kill me." He let out a small whimper then cringed. "I'm sorry. Please. I’m sorry." 

Buffy drew her hand back and whispered, “Oh God. Spike… I don’t… I’m not…” She suddenly slid off the bed and stood up, motioning to Dawn to join her. "Spike, just… um… just stay where you are and I'll be right back."

Spike murmured, "Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry," as Buffy and Dawn walked out of the room. 

Buffy closed the door then leaned against it, thumping her head against the wood. "Oh God. I don’t even know what to do."

Dawn took Buffy’s hand and started leading her down the hall. "Was this what he was like when he got here?"

Buffy nodded. "He couldn't talk then, but the attitude was pretty much the same, and if he could've spoken, that's probably what he would've sounded like. He was so scared, Dawnie. Every time he did something he thought was wrong or didn't understand something, he was afraid I was going to punish him. God, he’d come so far… he was doing so good… Fucking Angelus. And now he thinks we hate him and we’re going to kill him. What the hell are we gonna do?"

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.” Dawn stopped at the end of the hall and indicated the living room with a nod of her head. "I can't go in there, remember? The perv?"

Buffy’s eyes flashed. "Right. Hang on." She stomped into the living room and Dawn heard a loud crack-thump and then Buffy called out, "Okay. All clear."

Dawn walked into the living room and looked over at Angelus. His head was lolling limply forward and Buffy was leaning a bat against the wall by the chair. Dawn held up the stone. "You could’ve used this, you know."

Buffy looked over at her and shrugged. "Yeah, but the bat is more bad-dayish than the stone, and it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it. He’s lucky I only hit him once." She turned and headed for the kitchen. "I need coffee."

Dawn muttered, "I need a drink."

Buffy spoke over her shoulder, "I heard that, and when all this is over with, I’m gonna beat the ass of whoever’s been giving alcohol to my underage sister."

“Underage? I’m like a bazillion years old!”

“Not in that body. It’s underage and it’s not allowed to drink.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, the older sister.”

“Technically, I’m the older sister. And I’m taller.”

The familiar argument made Buffy feel just a little better as they entered the kitchen. It was a small piece of normality – well, what passed for normal in her world – in an otherwise mostly craptastic day.

XXXX

Spike lay there, staring at the wall. The pain from his real injuries had made itself known just as Buffy had shut the bedroom door. There was quite a lot, mostly around his abdomen and genitals, but he hadn't dared to raise his head to look at the damage Liam had caused. Buffy had told him to stay where he was.

So he just breathed slowly. In and out. Trying to push the pain down, make it not as important. He was going to be a good slave for her. It was the only thing he could think to do to try to make up for what he'd done to her sister. He knew what he’d done was unforgivable, but maybe if he proved useful... He sighed. His days were numbered and it was probably a very small number. Buffy was nothing if not ruthless where her friends and family were concerned. Hurting one of them was tantamount to suicide, and she’d never forgive him for it, no matter what he did.

_At least it should be over soon. They’ll decide how best to kill me and it’ll all be over. No more fighting. No more hurting. No more anything. Just the end._

XXXX

Buffy lowered her coffee cup and cradled it in her hands. “So what do I do?” She set the cup on the counter then pushed it back. “God, I’m so tired.”

Dawn took a sip of her coffee. “What did you do the first time?”

Buffy shrugged. “Took care of him. Cleaned him up, fed him, tucked him in, held him while he cried, tried to convince him that I wasn’t going to punish him every time he moved.”

“So do that again.”

Buffy leaned her head back against the cupboard. “He’s worse this time, Dawnie. A lot worse. Did you hear the fear in his voice? When he first got here, he expected punishment all the time, but now he’s probably lying there waiting for us to come kill him because he thinks we hate him.”

Dawn shrugged. “So we tell him we don’t. Show him we don’t.”

Buffy raised her head. “You think it’ll be that simple? Have you met Spike? Even when he wasn’t… whatever he is now, nothing involving him has ever been **simple**. You think a few kind words and a hug is going to fix him? After all the shit he’s been through?”

Dawn shrugged again and set down her coffee cup. “Won’t know until we try, but the Spike I remember only really passionately cared about one thing. Loving and being loved… and well, fighting… so maybe two things, but I think the thing that will ‘fix’ him is showing him that we love him. If we can get him to believe that, then I think he’ll be okay. He’ll be… Spike. It’s probably gonna be hard, and who knows how long it’ll take, but…” She pushed away from the counter. “Why don’t we start by lying down with him and getting some sleep? I’m tired. You’re tired. And Spike always did like to cuddle, so maybe that will kickstart the fixing. Besides, we’ll be able to come at the problem with more energy and brainpower after we’ve gotten some rest. Angelus isn’t going anywhere, so we’ve got time.” She started out of the kitchen.

Buffy followed. “What about the possibly impending apocalypse?”

Dawn waved a hand. “We won’t notice if it happens while we’re asleep, so let’s just add it to the ‘deal with it when we wake up’ list… you know, if we wake up.”

Buffy glanced at Angelus as they passed through the living room. He was still knocked out and had drool dripping off his chin. She muttered, “Asshole,” and stepped into the hallway.

As she’d figured, Spike hadn’t moved a muscle while they’d been gone. He was still lying flat on his back, his eyes fixed to a point on the wall behind her. She stepped around the bed and sat down gingerly, Dawn mimicking her movements on the other side. She noticed Spike tense slightly in anticipation and she reached for his hand. “I’m not going to punish you or kill you, Spike, and neither is Dawn. We don’t hate you.”

Dawn moved Spike’s arm away from his body then stretched out beside him and laid her head on his shoulder. “We don’t. We both love you and we’ll do whatever we can to help you, okay?”

Buffy mimicked Dawn this time and they both snuggled as close as they could get while being careful not to put pressure on his injuries. Buffy reached up and gently caressed his face, drawing her fingertips over his forehead, cheeks, and chin. “I don’t know who the ‘he’ is, but what he told you while you were… away… it’s all lies. All of it. We don’t hate you, we’re not going to punish you or kill you, and you don’t have to service me. I only said those things to make it let you go. You’re not a slave anymore.”

A single tear fell from Spike’s eye and Buffy wiped it away with a fingertip. “I love you, Spike.” She lifted up and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “I love you so much. Please come back to me.”

XXXX

Spike lay there, his arms outstretched perpendicular to his body, with the two people he loved most on the planet using him for a pillow. They’d both fallen asleep some time ago, and Dawn was currently drooling on his chest while Buffy snored quietly into his neck.

When they’d come back into the bedroom without stakes or any other kind of weapon in their hands, he’d been surprised, to say the least. But Buffy really didn’t need a weapon to do major damage – she could tear his head off or punch straight through his chest with barely any expended effort – and he’d involuntarily tensed when she’d sat down next to him.

And then she’d spoken, and the words she’d said had been the complete opposite of everything Uposs had spent hours trying to kick and stomp into him. His mind had shifted into overdrive, weighing one against the other over and over until his thoughts had become as tangled and knotted as last year’s strings of Christmas lights. 

He closed his eyes and wiped all thought from his mind, floating in a white nothing for a while. Then he started trying to sort through it all again, but this time he gave more weight to the actions of the women currently sprawled across him and less to their words. Would they be cuddling him like a life-size teddy bear if they hated him? No… No, they wouldn’t. 

Spike lifted his head and looked down his body. His stomach was covered in small squares of gauze and he could feel the chill of ice packs under the light towel draped over his groin. Would he be in Buffy’s bed if she hated him? No. Would she take the time to dress his wounds and ice his swollen bits if she was planning to kill him? No. Uposs had lied. 

He looked around the darkened room, spying the pad of blankets on the floor under the window. He sniffed. They were covered in his blood. That must be where she’d treated him. He saw an odd looking machine sitting next to the blankets and an open duffel bag that had various medical supplies poking up out of it. They didn’t smell like Buffy’s flat, so she must have gotten Niblet to bring in the supplies she’d needed. 

He turned his head and looked at the brunette girl. Her face was smooshed into his chest with her hand curled under her chin. She’d slept like this many times when Buffy had been dead. It had bothered Willow, but Tara had understood and had encouraged it because Dawn hadn’t had nightmares when she’d slept curled up on the couch with him. He brought his arm down and wrapped it around her. She shifted, burrowing closer to him, and he smiled then pressed a kiss to her head. His Niblet didn’t hate him. Uposs had lied about that, too. Dawn wasn’t here to help Buffy kill her slave; she was here to help take care of her sister’s… whatever he was.

He stopped to think about that for a moment. What was he to Buffy? Not her slave – she’d stated as much. Was he her boyfriend? Lover? Partner? Was there even a word that could define their relationship? He shook his head slightly. One word? No. But two words – it’s complicated – were probably as close to a definition as they were ever likely to get. And they would work.

He turned his head but couldn’t see Buffy’s face because of how she was positioned. He started to move his arm to wrap around her then had to stop when something tugged at the inside of his elbow. He looked at his forearm and smiled slightly. There was an IV taped to his arm, the tubing leading to a bag of blood that was duct-taped to the top of the headboard. He continued the movement of his arm, being careful of the tubing, and snuggled Buffy tightly against his side. He felt her smile against his neck and his own smile widened. 

He had both his girls, and as long as he did, things would work out. Uposs could go pound sand, the lying prick. Spike had survived The First’s torture because he’d held onto the thought that Buffy believed in him, and now? Well, now he had two of the strongest women he’d ever known in his corner, so if Uposs dragged Spike back down there with him, Spike would do some pounding of his own. He was done being a slave. Done being raped. Done being tortured. And the next creature to try anything of the sort was going to have a rude and very painful awakening. Even without his demon, Spike would fight tooth and nail against anyone who tried to use him or abuse him.

The strip of silk around his neck suddenly felt heavy… constricting… and he reached toward it with the arm wrapped around Buffy. She shifted as he moved, mumbling something in a sleepy voice. Spike froze until she’d settled back against him then he carefully replaced his arm. Removing the collar would have to wait. Buffy had been through quite an ordeal in the past few days and she needed the rest. 

He closed his eyes, surrounded by the warmth and scent of his girls, then gave them a squeeze and let himself drift off. Things would work out.

XXXX

Uposs was meandering slowly along, humming to himself while he waited for his kickball to return, so he didn't notice the dark figure slinking up behind him, stealthy and silent.

The demon smiled as he got into position. He'd been waiting for this for years. Waiting for something to set him free. And now it was time. Time to get rid of the usurper once and for all. Time to free his host, join forces with him and the soul, and then lay waste to the cause of all their troubles. 

She’d promised he’d get his chance, even said that she’d help, but they wouldn’t need her help. He’d learned a lot at his Sire’s knee, and he was itching to put those skills into practice… on his Sire.

He sprang into motion, a mighty roar issuing from his throat as he tore into Uposs with his claws. He was a blur, darting in, slashing, and darting out. The next strike was a vicious bite that tore a large chunk of meat from the back of his screaming victim. The screams didn't last long, though, because the demon’s claws slashed out again, right across the screaming throat. 

Uposs lay on the ground, his hands raised in a warding gesture… or maybe he was begging for mercy. The pitiful gurgling noises were difficult to interpret, but if Uposs was expecting mercy, he was going to be sorely disappointed. There was not a scrap of mercy anywhere in the wicked grin that split the demon’s face as he set to work. 

He took his time, tearing Uposs apart piece by piece until he was reduced to a pile of steaming meat, splintered bones, and scattered viscera. The demon nudged the severed head with his foot until the vacant eye sockets were staring up at him then he threw his head back and howled in triumph. 

He turned away from the remains and loped off into the darkness. One down… one to go.


	34. Hungry

Service Unit  
Chapter Thirty Four – Hungry

Spike twitched awake suddenly, blinking as he tried to figure out what had woken him. He looked around the room, his eyes stopping briefly on the bloody blankets, the medical equipment, and the doorway, but nothing had changed. He checked Buffy and Dawn, but they were both still asleep, their breathing deep and even. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. He’d only been asleep for a little over an hour. He listened, but the only things he could hear were a ticking clock in the living room and the breathing of the two women.

Then he felt it. He twitched again as his demon slotted itself into its normal place inside his head. It was an odd sensation. He wasn’t used to it being… separate. It had always just been there… part of him… and when it had gone away it had left a noticeable hole, an empty space that had made him ache with loss. 

Spike tried to call it forward, having to consciously think about the process for the first time in over 120 years, and he felt his fangs lengthen beneath his lip and his brow crunch into the demon’s visage. His vision sharpened, the details of the room springing into nearly painful clarity, and the scents he was surrounded with suddenly assaulted his nose. He breathed deeply, taking it all in, then smiled a fangy smile. He felt whole for the first time in over two decades. 

An image suddenly appeared in his head of a pile of bloody meat and bones and Spike winced, his smile morphing into a defensive showing of fangs. He was sure that Uposs was sending the image, telling him what would happen when he dragged Spike back down since Spike hadn’t serviced Buffy like he’d been told to. The image changed to a mostly whole but screaming Uposs and then more images fluttered by in rapid succession, almost as quickly as a movie projector. Spike’s smile returned, wider than it had been before. He was watching his demon destroy Uposs. The scenes drew to a highly satisfying conclusion and he sent a thought to the demon, “Thanks for that, mate. Glad you’re back. Now things can return to sodding normal around here.”

Another image appeared and Spike snorted laughter. The image had been Liam, chained and gagged, sitting on the chair that Spike and Buffy had shagged themselves stupid on a few hours ago. _So that’s what she did with him. Clever, wicked girl. Love the gag. Bet he’s right pissed he’s got to wear it. Git does love to run his mouth. You know what? Think I need to see this live and in person._

Dawn had moved down a bit in her sleep, and her nose was currently pressed into his ribs with the crown of her head jammed into his armpit. Her warm breath was tickling a little and Spike carefully lifted his arm off her, trying not to get tangled in her long hair, then he turned toward Buffy. 

Buffy had turned over and her back was pressed up against his side as she used his bicep for a pillow. He slid his arm out from under her head, again being careful of the IV tubing, then stilled until she settled and started snoring lightly again. He peeled the tape off his arm then pulled the needle free of his vein. A small dribble of blood welled up from the puncture and he lifted his arm to his mouth and licked it off, sealing the small wound. 

He sat up; clamping his lips down against a grunt of pain, then looked down at himself. He gritted his teeth and lifted the towel. His bits and bobs were nestled amongst three ice packs. He grimaced as he gingerly removed them then looked over the damage. His balls were slightly swollen and tender to the touch, and his penis was several different colors. _Bloody hell._ He poked lightly at the large bruise that covered most of one side and winced. It was dark purple in the middle, fading to various shades of green and yellow toward the outside. He turned his focus to his backside, shifting slightly and lifting a hip far enough to slip his hand under his rump. He lightly prodded the area around his anus, wincing again when his fingertip pressed on one of the tears. _Could be worse, I suppose._ He glanced at the clock again. _Actually, it should be worse. A lot worse. Considering the coring Liam was givin’ me and how my cock felt like it’d been ripped off the last time he slammed me into the couch, I should be in blinding agony right now. Not to mention all those bits of couch that’d been jammed into my belly._

He settled carefully back onto the bed then leaned back just a little, picking at the smallest square of gauze that was taped to his belly and carefully pulling it away. There was a neatly stitched hole underneath. He scratched absently at the stitches with one hand while he used the other to pull off the rest of the gauze squares. Fourteen puncture wounds were scattered across his stomach, all neatly stitched closed. And every single one itched. He inspected them closely. They itched because they were nearly healed. The holes were completely closed over, the new skin pink and tender and whole. 

He’d never healed this fast before – well, in the slave dimension he had, but he was sure that Buffy hadn’t given him any of his yellow slave goo. Those punctures should have taken nearly a week to heal even if she’d packed him to the rafters with human blood, so… He turned to look at Buffy and felt for the threads of the blood bond. They were still there, but weren’t any stronger than they’d been the last time he’d checked. His brow furrowed. If she hadn’t given him her blood… He swept his tongue around his mouth then broke into a grin. It had been a lot of years since he’d had it, just over a century, but it’s not like he would ever forget what it tasted like. Sire’s blood. He laughed quietly under his breath. Buffy had bled the poof.

His stomach rumbled just then and Spike’s grin widened. _Think I’ll go have a snack._

XXXX

A quick search of Buffy’s closet had turned up the clothes she’d told him about, stacked neatly on a shelf. He’d thought about putting on a pair of jeans, but had ultimately decided against it. His injured nethers would be distinctly uncomfortable crammed into tight denim, so he slipped into a pair of soft cotton sweat pants instead. He pulled on a t-shirt and, leaving his feet bare, padded out into the hallway.

Liam was glaring at him when he stepped into the living room and Spike smirked. “The ‘not able to run your mouth’ is a good look on you, Liam. Especially like the pink. Suits you.” He stepped toward the couch, being careful to hide the grimace until his back was to the dark-haired vampire. That was a lot of blood. It was starting to dry, the edges of the puddle curling and flaking, and Spike backed up, grimacing again as his eyes fell on the back of the couch. The bloodied bits of wood sticking out of the blood-drenched fabric made his guts clench in remembered agony. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath then turned to the sound of Liam laughing quietly through his nose.

Spike squared his shoulders, wrapping his ‘Big Bad’ persona around him like a cloak, then he lifted his shirt, motioning to his healing wounds as he walked toward Liam. “I’m feeling much better, in case you were wondering, and I’m also feeling a bit… peckish. Came to get a snack… Sire.”

Liam snarled around the gag and Spike chuckled as he walked around to the back of the chair. “Don’t much care for bein’ helpless, do you? Bein’ at the mercy of someone else.” He leaned down, calling his demon forward as he did, then whispered into Liam’s ear, “It’s really got to be chappin’ your backside to be at MY mercy. Shoe’s fittin’ quite nicely on the other foot, innit? You’d better get used to bein’ on this side of things, you wanker. I’ve plans for you. And, as Buffy would say, they don’t involve hugs or puppies.” 

Liam’s snarl changed to a deep growl as his head was tipped to the side and Spike scraped his fangs down the larger vampire’s neck. Liam tried to jerk his head out of Spike’s grasp, but Spike twined his fingers through Liam’s hair and held on tight. “My fangs haven’t completely grown in, so this might sting a bit. Hope you don’t mind.” He sank his fangs to the gum line in Liam’s flesh and Liam howled through the gag, straining against his bonds.

Spike drank deep, taking hard pulls of Liam’s blood until his belly was full. He slipped his fangs out then shook off the demon and licked his lips. “Should be fully healed in a few hours. Ta.” Spike let go of Liam’s hair and his head drooped forward. Spike stepped around to the front of the chair and looked over his captive, smirking again when his eyes landed on Liam’s groin. “Looks like Buffy’s already started dishing out some punishment. Clever girl.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling and asked, “What was it you said?” He looked at Liam with a grin. “Oh yeah… gettin’ hit in the willy hurts. Truer words were never spoken, my friend.”

Liam raised his head and glared, snarling around the gag. Spike bent at the waist and propped his hands on his knees, peering into Liam’s eyes. “Do you still have it?” 

Liam dropped his gaze and shook his head. Spike leaned closer and sniffed deeply. “Yeah, it’s still there. Can smell it, but just barely.” He straightened up. “Well… that changes things a mite, doesn’t it?” Liam looked up at him, a hopeful expression on his face. Spike balled his right hand into a fist and swung, hitting Liam square in the jaw and snapping his head to the side with nearly enough force to break his neck. 

Liam’s eyes were blazing with fury when he turned his gaze back to Spike just in time to have his head snapped in the other direction by Spike’s left fist. Spike stood back and regarded the other vampire with a thoughtful expression. “Can’t dust you outright, can I? Not with your daughter’s soul still in residence. Wouldn’t be right, her havin’ to spend eternity in hell ‘cause you’re a twat. ‘Sides, she’s not the one did this to me.”

Spike turned and moved to the loveseat, lowering himself into a comfortable sprawl across the cushions. He leaned back against the arm then folded his arms behind his head, considering the furious vampire for a few long minutes before taking a deep breath. “You know, it’s funny, before the soul – mine, not yours – I probably wouldn’t have survived this… experience. Well, I’d have survived in the physical sense, but I’d have ended up bein’ nothin’ but an empty shell. Lights are on but no one’s home, yeah? Wheel’s spinnin’ but the hamster’s dead. ‘Specially with my demon goin’ into hiding like it did. A vampire with a demon in hiding is pretty much just a stronger flavor of human, innit? Yeah, the body can take the punishment, take the pain, but without the demon to carry the load – provide that layer of insulation, as it were – the mind just breaks. Humans aren’t meant to be in constant agony for an extended period of time. They can take it for a while – most could handle a few hours, some a few days, even a few weeks, but you start moving into months or years, and… snap… their minds break like an old, dry twig.” 

Spike smiled over at Liam. “Was my soul kept me from goin’ completely sack of hammers. It couldn’t provide a full layer of insulation, of course… I did totter ‘round the bend a bit… but for the most part, I’m as sane as I ever was, and I have my soul to thank for that.”

Spike sat up, still wearing his smile. “So… since your daughter shouldn’t have to suffer for the sins of her father, the first item on the agenda will be findin’ a way to free her soul. Then…” his smile morphed into a fierce grin, “…you get to spend quite a lot of time **wishing** I’d dusted you.” He held up a hand. “I know what you’re thinking – _‘But your soul won’t let you do that.’_ – and in most circumstances, you’d be right. My soul **won’t** let me torture someone for fun or profit, but you? Yeah. My soul has absolutely no problem at all with retribution.”

XXXX

Spike dropped the scrub brush into the bucket of bloody water and reached into the bucket of rinse water, wringing out the rag. A few more swipes and he’d be done. The rag plopped into the bucket and he got to his feet, bringing the buckets with him. He backed up several steps and looked at the hardwood floor with a critical eye. Then he slid into game face and looked at it with his demon eyes. He could still see… and smell… traces of blood – he shook off his demon – but it would be undetectable to any human who didn’t have a full CSI unit at their disposal.

“And that’ll be the job done.” He cocked his head, listening intently. “Just in time, too. Buffy will be waking soon.”

He carried the buckets into the utility room and dumped them into the floor sink in the corner then rinsed them out and set them on the edge to dry. The scrub brush and rag were a lost cause, so he quickly slipped out of the flat and dropped them down the incinerator chute then stepped to the end of the hall to peek out the window. The sun was just sinking over the horizon. He looked out over Rome, watching until the blazing colors of sunset faded into twilight, then he turned and headed back down the hall.

Breaking the ruined couch into small enough pieces to fit down the incinerator chute had been a job of work. He’d had to use his vampire strength – and a few choice pieces from Buffy’s weapons chest – to get it done, but he’d managed it **without** making enough noise to wake the dead… or his girls. He’d originally planned to just cart the whole thing out of the building and toss it into the bin, but when he’d gotten to the lift, he’d found that the couch wouldn’t fit. He’d tried the stairs next, but apparently one needed some sort of keycard to access them, and he hadn’t felt like ransacking Buffy’s flat to find hers. The building likely had a freight elevator somewhere – how else had they gotten the couch up here? – but he hadn’t wanted to go looking for it. Besides, it probably needed a card, or a maintenance worker would have to operate it, and trying to explain why one not-overly-large man was carrying around a huge couch covered in blood was more effort than Spike had been willing to expend. And, because the sun had been up, he’d have had to explain why he was on fire when he got back to the building.

Spike stepped back into Buffy’s flat and looked it over as he locked the door behind him. The living room looked quite large now that the only pieces of furniture left were the love seat, a couple of chairs, and a few accent tables. The missing couch and coffee table left quite a large gap in the space, and the lack of area rugs – he’d rolled them and put them in the closet to be cleaned later – added to the sense of openness. 

The chair in the corner caught his eye and he smirked at it. It looked like it had a pile of laundry sitting on it; only the laundry was moving… and had feet. When Spike had started sweeping up the bits of exploded coffee table, Liam had started making disparaging faces and noises at him. When Spike had picked up Liam’s bag of toys, not bothering to look inside except to replace the knife and whip that had been sitting on the couch – he already knew what kinds of things would be in there and didn’t need a refresher – Liam had started snarling. Spike had put the bag in the closet next to the rugs then had gone into the bathroom. He’d rummaged in the linen closet until he’d found an old sheet then he’d tossed it over Liam’s head, securing the corners under the legs of the chair so Liam couldn’t shake it off.

Spike walked toward the chair and the laundry tensed. Spike tipped the chair back and freed the corners of the sheet with his foot then set the chair back down and lifted the cloth. Liam was glaring when his face was revealed – big surprise – and Spike smiled. “I’m hungry again.”


	35. Awkward

Service Unit  
Chapter Thirty Five – Awkward

Buffy rolled onto her back and stretched, her arm bumping the person lying next to her. The person groaned something that sounded like, “Mmphh,” and jerked the blanket, rolling themselves up like a burrito. Buffy sat up and looked over at the lump under the blanket – _Wait a minute. Blanket? Where’d that come from?_ The tangle of brunette hair poking out of the top identified the lump as her sister. Then she noticed who **wasn’t** in the bed. Her eyes flew around the room. _Where’s Spike?_

She climbed out of bed and hurried toward the door, poking her head into her closet on the way by. No Spike. He wasn’t in the bathroom or the guest bedroom, either. The dead trainer was still there, though, staring up at the ceiling with all his dead eyes. She really needed to do something with his body; he was starting to stink. He’d never really smelled good, but now the odor emanating from her guest bedroom was reminiscent of a landfill in the middle of July. She shut the door. He would have to wait. Stinky dead trainers were not really at the top of her worry list right at the moment.

She heard him before she saw him. Well, she heard the distinctive slurping sound of a feeding vampire. When she stepped into the living room, Spike was just lifting his mouth away from Angelus’ neck. Spike licked his lips as his demon faded then he smiled over at her. Angelus jerked his head out of Spike’s grasp and turned to glare up at him. Spike smacked the back of his head, muttering, “Behave, you tosser,” as he stepped around the chair. He nodded back over his shoulder and his face morphed into his signature smirk. “Gonna have to feed ‘im at some point, Slayer. His tank’s gettin’ a bit low.”

Buffy goggled for a few long seconds then she squealed in delight and rushed across the room, launching herself at Spike. He caught her easily, sliding one arm around her back and the other under her rump, holding her close. She didn’t really need the support, though, because her legs were wound tight around his waist and her arms around his neck, one hand cupping the back of his head. Her mouth plunged toward his in a fierce kiss that lasted until she was breathless and gasping. She broke off then rested her forehead against his and panted, “You’re back.”

Spike smiled. “I am, and I take it you’re happy to see me.”

Her smile nearly blinded him before she dove in for another kiss. When she’d pulled back, she nodded. “Yeah. Well… maybe just a little.” Her eyes widened and she started squirming. “Oh God… you’re hurt and I just jumped on you. I’m sorry. Put me down.”

He tightened his grip on her and shook his head. “I’m fine and I like you right where you are, luv.” 

Her eyes closed and she stopped squirming, lowering her head to rest her forehead against his. She whispered, “I never thought I’d hear you call me that again.”

Spike cut his eyes to Liam then started walking toward the kitchen. He really didn’t care to have this conversation – well, ANY conversation with Buffy – in front of the poof, considering his penchant for twisting other’s words to use against them, but being that Dawn was in one bedroom and his dead trainer was in the other one, the kitchen was the only place left to go. It really wasn’t far enough away for Liam not to hear them if they spoke in normal tones, but if they closed the door and whispered, then maybe…

He stopped just inside the kitchen door and Buffy looked at him quizzically then asked, “What?”

He nodded back toward Liam. “Need to talk to you, but don’t think he needs to listen in. Do you still have those stones that made me deaf?”

She nodded and started to squirm again. “Yeah. I’ll get them.”

He set her lightly on her feet and she headed down the hall, returning a few moments later with a small ring box, a small silver stick, and minty fresh breath. She leaned into him and stole another kiss. “Sorry for the dragon breath. I’m surprised you didn’t fall over.”

Spike smiled and slipped his arm around her, pulling her close. “Didn’t even notice, pet, and didn’t matter anyway. I’d never say no to a kiss from you.”

Buffy visibly melted against him and they shared another until-she-was-breathless-and-panting kiss. When they broke apart, they both turned to look at their captive. He was making loud gagging noises. Spike shot him the two finger salute. “Shut it, you git.”

Buffy opened the ring box then held it up. “The brown ones go in his ears.”

“You’ll have to do it, kitten. Was kind of busy bein’ in agony when they were used on me, so I don’t know how they work.”

Buffy grimaced then nodded. “Yeah… okay.”

They walked over to the glowering vampire and Buffy picked out a small brown stone. “Hold his head, please.” Spike obliged her, grasping Liam’s hair and tipping his head to the side. Buffy touched the stone with the bulb end of the silver stick and the stone stuck to it like it was magnetized. She slid the stone deeply into Liam’s ear canal then twisted the stick and tapped it twice with her index finger before withdrawing it, sans stone. Liam twitched and Spike let go of his head. Liam started shaking his head furiously, like a dog shaking off water, then he rubbed his ear against his shoulder several times. He raised his head and glared up at the two of them with murder in his eyes.

Buffy readied the second stone and nodded at the still glaring vampire. “Other side.” Spike gripped Liam’s hair again, after having to chase his head for a few seconds, then tipped it the other way. Buffy inserted the second stone and Spike let go. More head shaking and ear rubbing then more murderous glaring. 

Spike took a step back so he was out of Liam’s line of sight then clapped his hands sharply together. Buffy jumped, but Liam didn’t. “Seems to be working, but let’s check.” Spike stepped around to the front of the chair so he could see Liam’s face. He smirked then raised his hand to block his mouth from Liam’s view before speaking in a loud, concise voice, “Luv, would you fetch the clippers? Want to shave the poof’s head. Wonder what he’ll look like completely bald? Probably save him a fortune on that Nancy-Boy hair gel.”

Buffy giggled and Liam looked at her in confusion. Spike dropped his hand. “Think they’re workin’. He’d be tryin’ to chew his way out of those chains if he’d heard what I said. Don’t think there’s anythin’ more important to the wanker than his bloody hair.”

Buffy held up the box. “Do you want to use the rest? The voice stone and the scent stones?”

Spike considered for a minute then shook his head. “No. The gag works quite nicely for shuttin’ him up, and I don’t care to remove his sense of smell, ‘specially considerin’ where he’s sittin’. You’re a clever woman, pet. Wicked and clever.”

Buffy grinned proudly as she closed the ring box and set it and the stick on a small table. “Yeah, it was a good idea, huh?”

“Very good,” Spike said as he bent to pick up the sheet. He lifted it and draped it over Liam’s head then secured the corners before turning and taking Buffy’s hand. “Now we can sit and talk.”

They moved over to the love seat and sat down, facing each other. Buffy nodded to the collar Spike still wore. “Uh… can the first thing we talk about be taking that thing off? I mean… um… can you?”

Spike grimaced and dropped his gaze to his hands. “That’s…” He took a deep breath and glanced at her before dropping his gaze again. “I, um… I may have misled you a bit as to the state of my mental health. Don’t mistake me… I’m sane. I’m… me, I guess, for the most part, but there are… remnants… of my slavery. Learned behaviors and ways of thinking that may take some time to rid myself of.” He indicated Liam with a nod of his head then looked at her. “I’ve been putting up a bit of a front because I didn’t want to appear weak in front of him, although he most likely already thinks so because I’m still wearing the symbol of my slavery.”

Buffy frowned. “So, you’re not okay? You seem okay.” She waved around the living room. “But then there’s the cleaning thing. I don’t really remember you being all Mr. Clean…” She paused then continued quietly, “Although your crypt usually looked pretty good when I showed up… not so much when I left...”

He shrugged. “Didn’t want you to have to deal with the mess, pet. You’ve been through enough.”

Buffy’s mouth dropped open and she nearly choked. “ **I’ve** been through enough? What?” She stopped when he flinched at her sharp tone. “Sorry, but you’ve been through way more than me…” She paused at his frown then took a breath before continuing, “But deciding who wins that race isn’t the point right now. Thank you for cleaning up.” She reached out and touched his knee. “You didn’t clean it because you still think you’re my slave, did you?”

He shook his head. “No… well, mostly no. I wasn’t sleepy and it kept me occupied. I had some thinkin’ to do and I always think better when I’m movin’, so…”

“And you were thinking about the collar?”

He nodded. “Some other things, but mostly the collar, yeah. I want to remove it, was ready to a few hours ago.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“You were lyin’ on my arm and the movement would have woken you.”

“Okay… um…” She looked around the living room, indicating the open space with a nod of her head. “You’ve apparently been up for a while. Do you need my permission or something to take it off? Because you have it. Or I could take it off.”

He shook his head. “It’s not that I need permission or that you need to do it. I just…” He closed his eyes. “I have this fear – not an entirely irrational fear, being that I witnessed what happened to disowned slaves many times – that removing the collar, whether you do or I do, means you don’t want me anymore. Wearing your collar means that this is where I belong, that I’m yours… but without it…”

“You’re still mine and you still belong here.”

“That’s what I spent a few hours trying to convince myself of, but…”

“No buts, Spike.” He nodded, not speaking, and she could tell he was terrified of what would happen once the collar was removed. She reached for his hand. “I want you here. Forever and always. I’m not going to get rid of you, no matter what happens. I promise. I love you.” He was looking at their hands and she squeezed his. “If you need me to, I’ll prove it. I know about the blood thing… what will happen if I keep giving you my blood. Dawn told me.”

He looked up at her, eyes hopeful, but wary. “You haven’t given me enough to do anything yet, so if that’s not what you want…”

“It is what I want. Is it what you want?”

He didn’t hesitate for even a fraction of a second. “Yes.”

“Because you love me or because of the slavery thing?”

“Because I love you. Yes, a blood bond will erase those fears, but that’s… I don’t want to… guilt you into it, I guess. It’s forever, Buffy. There’s no undoing it, so if you’re even the tiniest bit unsure...”

“I’m sure. Forever, Spike. You and me.” She reached up and lightly brushed her fingers across the bite scar on her neck. “And I want **your** mark to be here…” She nodded at the sheet with feet over in the corner. “Not his.”

His eyes followed her fingers and he swallowed hard. “You want me to bite you? I don’t have to. You can just keep giving me your blood in a mug and the bond will still take.” He moved his gaze to her eyes. “I know Angel hurt you, as did the other two prats who sank their fangs…”

“You won’t hurt me, Spike.”

He spoke softly, “Never hurt you again. Won’t let anyone else hurt you, either, not if I can do anything to prevent it.”

“I know that.” She scooted closer, leaning toward him. “So it’s okay. I want you to.”

Spike leaned away from her, his expression alarmed. “Here? Now?”

Buffy stopped and sat back. “What’s wrong with here and now?”

Spike glanced toward the hallway then over at the lump under the sheet. “Well… if I’m going to bite you, I want to do it right. I don’t want it to be just a quick feeding like I did with the poof over there. I can make you feel things, if I want to.”

“What things?”

Spike smirked. “You know when we were shaggin’ earlier in the chair? How intense it felt? Well, if I bite you at the right time, it’ll make your climax about ten times stronger than that one, and your sis might come runnin’ out here to see what the problem is when you start screamin’.”

Buffy blushed and looked down at her hands. “Oh. Okay. Yeah.”

“Yeah, and I don’t particularly care to have Niblet gettin’ an eyeful of my bits and pieces.”

Buffy cringed. “Oh… Um… about that…”

Spike frowned. “About… what?” His mind flashed back to the pad of blankets in Buffy’s room and the medical equipment sitting next to them that Dawn must have brought. He blanched. “You mean…”

Buffy nodded. “Dawn’s had the medical training, not me, so she showed me how to stitch you up, and she knew where to put the ice packs so they’d work right, and she used the ultrasound to find the wood in you, and… yeah.”

Spike swallowed hard. “So… she’s seen…”

“Yeah.”

Spike swallowed again and ducked his head. “That’s not awkward or anything, is it?” He scrubbed one hand over his face. “Bloody hell.”

Buffy laid a hand on his arm. “That’s not the worst, though, Spike. She’s had… sex.”

Spike’s head whipped up, his eyes flashing amber as he growled, “With what soon-to-be-missing-body-parts git?”

“She didn’t say.”

He growled again. “She needs to. Don’t want my soul to get annoyed for tearin’ the bits off the wrong bloke, now do I?”

Buffy smiled faintly. “I think Dawn would be a little more than annoyed if you started tearing bits off her boyfriend.”

Dawn stepped into the living room. “Dawn would be extremely pissed, so there will be no tearing the bits off of anybody. I’m all grown up now, and I’ll have sex if I want to.” She walked over to the love seat and nudged Spike over a little then sat down behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle, laying her head on his shoulder. “Hey. Good to have you back.”

He leaned into her embrace for a few seconds then sat forward and turned around. “Thank you for all your help.” He motioned toward his belly then his hand lifted to the back of his neck and he looked at a spot near her left shoulder. “About the… uh… seein’ me… uh… in the altogether…”

Dawn smiled. “Already forgotten. Like I told Buffy, your junk is hers to play with. I have my own junk. I think you’ll like him, Spike.” She smirked at Spike’s scandalized expression then gazed at him defiantly. “And no, you can’t go all fangy on him and try to scare him.” She transferred the gaze to Buffy. “You, either.”

Buffy blinked. “I don’t have fangs.” 

Dawn rolled her eyes. “I know that, but he knows who you are and what you’ve done, Buffy. He’s already kind of scared of you, so just don’t, okay? I like this one and I want to keep him.”

Buffy slid closer to Spike and lifted his arm to wrap around her then snuggled into him. “We’ll be nice, we promise. Won’t we, Spike?”

Spike nodded and immediately replied, “Yes, Mis…” then he bit off the word and grimaced, hanging his head in shame. He closed his eyes and whispered, “Balls.”

Buffy reached for his hand and squeezed it. “It’s fine, Spike. Like you said, it’ll take time, but you’ll get there.”

Dawn said quietly, “I guess you’re not all the way back, are you?”

Spike shook his head. “Not entirely, no. I can keep it tamped down if I’m concentrating, but if I’m not…”

Dawn nodded. “It’s an automatic response kind of thing.”

“Yeah.”

Buffy suddenly stood up and headed for the hallway. Dawn asked, “Where are you going?”

“To get something. Be right back.” She came back into the living room holding a small jewelry box and sat down next to Spike. She set the box on his leg and took the lid off then lifted out the necklace Dawn had included in the box of clothes. She held it up. “Would this work for a collar? It doesn’t look like one to anybody else, but it would let you know that you’re mine, right? Until you’ve worked through that?”

Spike glanced at Dawn, shame flooding his features again, then he looked at Buffy. “Yeah. I think it would, but um…” He glanced at Dawn again then looked down at his legs. “I don’t think it will, I don’t know… take… if you just change it right here. I think I need… it’s not an ownership transfer, I know that, but if…”

Buffy looked over at Dawn. “There’s a whole procedure to changing his collar, and it’s… private.”

Dawn stood. “Right. Then I’ll go… do something… somewhere else. You know what? How about I just go home and come back tomorrow? You guys have things to… do… and stuff, and Spike’s all healed up, right?” She looked at Spike. “You are healed?”

Spike nodded. “Yeah. The poof’s blood got me tip top… physically, anyway.”

“Good. Um… so I’ll just go pack up the stuff and see you tomorrow.”

Buffy nodded. “Okay. Um… can you do something for me at the compound before you come over?”

“Sure.”

Buffy glared over at the sheet-covered chair in the corner. “Clear out a room in the basement. The one all the way at the end of the hall by the entrance to the tunnels.”

Dawn smiled. “The one with the drain in the floor and the big rings in the wall you can hook chains to? Yeah. I can do that.”

“And bring the furniture cart when you come over. We’ll be moving Angelus into his temporary quarters as soon as it gets dark.”


	36. Enjoyable

Service Unit  
Chapter Thirty Six – Enjoyable

“That isn’t Angelus.”

Buffy turned from the door she’d just shut behind Dawn and looked at Spike. “Huh?”

“It’s Liam.”

“Again with the huh?”

Spike nodded at the chair that held a sheet-covered vampire. “That’s Liam.”

Buffy walked over and sat down. “Saying it again doesn’t make the huh go away, Spike.” She looked over at the chair. “Liam was his human name, so… he’s human? How did that happen? When? He can’t be human. If he was human I would’ve killed him when I hit him with that… thing.”

“Oh, he’s still a vampire.” Spike sat back and ran his hands over his fuzzy head then motioned toward the chair with a sigh. “Liam is his humanity, such as it is, Angelus is the demon, and Angel is the soul. His behavior depends on which one of them is in control of the body. He’s pretty much a textbook case of multiple personality syndrome.”

“And right now Liam is in control? How do you know? He seems pretty Angelus-like to me.”

“There’s subtle differences between the two, but nothin’ you’d notice if you’d never interacted with Liam. I spent my first couple of decades as a vampire dealin’ with that twat.”

“So he has his demon under control like you do?”

Spike snorted. “Not even close. See, my demon and I, while not exactly simpatico on a lot of things, managed to forge a… well… a workin’ relationship, I guess. Sometimes I’m in control, sometimes it is, and which one is at the wheel depends on the situation. My demon usually only drives when I’m fightin’… or supremely brassed off… the rest of the time, I’m drivin’. Liam shackled his demon. Caged it. He uses its strength and knowledge, but it hasn’t been at the wheel since Liam locked it up… except that one time.” 

“You mean in Sunnydale, after we… um… when his soul…”

“That was Angelus, through and through. When he first showed up, I thought somethin’ was a bit off, but I didn’t fully twig to it until he came up with the brilliant idea to send the whole world to Hell. Liam would never do that. He likes being top dog too much. In the demon world, vampires are pretty close to the bottom rung of the ladder because we’re not pure demons, we’re half-breeds, but Angelus apparently didn’t realize that if he managed to send the world to Hell, he’d be a slave to pure demons, if not dusted outright. Not to mention that Liam’s too much of a coward to tangle with a Slayer. He avoids them as much as possible. I’m the one who sought them out.”

“So why did he come here? If he’s a coward, then why is he chained up in my living room?”

“Because you had somethin’ he wanted. Me. If he could’ve come up with some other way to get me away from you, he would’ve, I guarantee it. He once took us over 500 miles out of our way just to avoid a Slayer, but with the way I am… was… there’s no way I’d be out on my own where he could snag me without havin’ to deal with you.”

“So where’s his soul? Does he still have it?”

“Yeah, he’s still got it. I can smell it on him, but it’s… I don’t know… suppressed somehow.”

“So what do we do with him? Should we just dust him and get it over with? Keep him locked up?” She looked over at Liam then turned back to Spike and took his hand. “Do you want some payback for what he did to you?”

Spike’s face turned stormy and he looked away. “I do. You have no idea how much. My demon is screamin’ for retribution, but I can’t do a bloody thing ‘til we find some way to release the soul. And I can’t send his worthless carcass to Hell ‘til it’s freed.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Why? If this is what he was like as a human, then he deserves to go to Hell. He’s more evil than most of the demons I’ve fought and Hell is where evil people go when they die. At least that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

Spike looked like he was debating with himself over something then he sighed and looked over at her. “Liam wasn’t cursed with **his** soul. You’re correct in your estimation of its worth, Buffy, and the gypsies had sussed it out as well, so they cursed him with the soul of his infant daughter. The one he killed before she’d even taken her first breath. But since she isn’t the one who wronged me, it’s not right that she should suffer for it. I can’t exact vengeance on an innocent, Buffy, my soul forbids it, and my demon agrees with my soul on that point, so as long as her soul is there, my hands are tied.”

Buffy sat in silence for a few minutes, carefully studying Spike’s face, then she nodded. “Okay. So we free the soul. Check. Then what?”

“Then you go about your affairs and leave me to have a little ‘quality’ time with my grandsire.”

“Leave you? I don’t think so. I want in on this, too, Spike.”

Spike shook his head, wearing a pained expression. “It’s family business, Buffy. Vampires have rules… laws about retribution and who’s allowed to seek it, and…” He trailed off, dropping his gaze to his knees.

“And what?”

He lifted his head and looked her in the eyes. “And I don’t want you to see what my demon’s going to do to him. I don’t want you to remember those things when you look at me. What you’ve already witnessed is bad enough…” He motioned to where the couch had been. “What happened there, what you read in my binder… I don’t want to add any more horrific items to your list. It’s quite long enough.”

Buffy nodded and reached out to grasp his hand. “Okay, Spike, I get that, but he hurt me, too. Doesn’t that give me some retribution rights according to your vampire rules?”

Spike grimaced and dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry he did that to you, Buffy. I wish he hadn’t degraded you like that.”

Buffy huffed out an angry breath. “It didn’t make me feel degraded, Spike; it pissed me off. And I want to let him know just how much.”

Spike looked up at her. “All right, yeah, you’ve earned the right to dish some punishment, but when you’re done… please, Buffy, I don’t want you to see…”

“Okay, Spike, I’ll do my thing then you can… do whatever.” She squeezed his hand. “But if you need my help, I’ll be there, I promise. And anything I see won’t change my opinion of you or how I feel about you. Okay?” He nodded. “Okay. So, we’ll keep him on ice until we figure out how to free the soul. And who knows? By that time, I might not be so pissed about what he did to me anymore and I won’t need retribution.” Spike glanced up at her and Buffy looked at him intently. “What he did to you, though… THAT will make me pissed-off-Buffy for a really long time.” Spike opened his mouth like he was going to speak and Buffy held up a hand. “But it’s yours to handle, and I’ll stay out of the way and let you handle it.”

Spike closed his mouth then nodded and said quietly, “Thank you, Buffy.”

“You’re welcome.” She nodded toward the bedroom. “Okay, um… do you want to do the collar thing now since we’re kind of in a holding pattern with the Liam thing?” Spike seemed to pull in on himself just a bit and Buffy slid closer, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. “It’s okay, Spike. What do I need to do?”

He shrugged. “I don’t really know, to be honest. I only had my collar changed once…”

Buffy grimaced. “Yeah, I read about it.”

Spike continued in a near whisper, “And you can’t do what my trainer did, being that you’re female, so…”

She sat back, studying his face. “Can you tell me what you feel? I mean… what would make you see the necklace as a collar?”

Spike looked over at the small box sitting on the table, being careful to avoid Buffy’s gaze. “My trainer was demonstrating his possession of me at the time, so… maybe do something that shows your possession? Liam’s got a whip in his bag. You could order me to my knees and…”

Buffy shook her head fiercely. “I won’t hurt you, Spike. I can’t.” She stood, pulling Spike up with her, then she picked up the jewelry box from the table. “We’ll figure out something else. Come on.”

They walked into the bedroom and stopped next to the bed, Spike’s eyes widening as Buffy turned to face him. The bloody pad of blankets was gone and the bed was freshly made, the pillows all plumped and stacked artfully against the headboard. Buffy smiled. “Dawnie was awake when I came in to get the stones and she cleaned up for me…” Buffy paused, her face becoming thoughtful. “Without me asking her to… which usually means she wants something or she’s done something.” She shrugged. “Guess we’ll see.”

Spike smirked. “Probably has somethin’ to do with her bloke. Tryin’ to get in your good graces so you don’t run him off.”

Buffy laughed quietly. “Yeah, probably.” She took the necklace out of the box and coiled it on the nightstand then turned to face Spike again. “Okay. Since anything that will cause you pain is out, what do we do to start?”

Spike tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, his smirk fading into an uncomfortable grimace. “Well… the first thing should probably be gettin’ out of my kit. I need to be starkers for this.”

Buffy reached out and grasped the hem of the t-shirt. “I’m over here in no-problem-with-naked-Spike-land. I like a naked Spike.” She lifted the shirt over his head and tossed it at the hamper then divested him of his sweat pants. When he stood naked before her, she brushed her fingertips lightly across his low belly, smiling slightly when his skin twitched. She’d forgotten he was ticklish. “When did you take out the stitches?”

He looked down at her hand. “Shortly after I started dismantling the couch. They were pullin’ every time I moved.”

“Oh. Was it hard to get them out by yourself?”

“No. Found some scissors in the bag of medical gear. A few snips and they were done. Not the first time I’ve doctored myself, pet.” He reached for her hand and squeezed. “I don’t want to do this, either, Buffy… but… I need to.”

Buffy nodded. “Right. No more stalling.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, so now I have a naked Spike. What next? Should I get naked, too?”

Spike shook his head, his face flooding with shame. “As much as I’d like that, it would make us equals, and for this to work, I need you to be…” He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Buffy nodded again. “I get it, Spike, I’ll keep my clothes on.” She looked toward the living room. “When I did the ownership transfer, I um… instead of hurting you, I uh… made you feel good. If I did that again, would it show possession?”

Spike let go of her hand then lifted his to the back of his neck and nodded at the floor. “It would, but I don’t think I should be standing for it. Should probably be kneeling so I’m lower than you, like I was for my trainer during the last change. And… uh… you’ll have to… not let me come… right away, at least. You’ll have to show that you’re in control of my… pleasure. That I can climax only when you allow it.”

Buffy threw a glare at the living room and muttered, “I am so gonna rip your nuts off, you son of a bitch.” She saw Spike flinch out of the corner of her eye and grasped his hand. “Not your nuts, Spike. The ones on that asshole in the living room.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. You need to be lower than me.” She tugged Spike toward the chair beside the nightstand. “How about sitting?” She maneuvered him until he was sitting on the chair then she moved into the open space between his knees and looked down at his upturned face. “Good thing that’s a short chair since I’m not very tall. Will this work?”

Spike nodded slowly. “Should, I guess, if…” He moved his hands behind the chair and clasped his left hand tightly around his right wrist. “There. This should do.”

Buffy frowned at the movement. “I don’t want to restrain you, Spike. Really don’t. Buckets of don’t.”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to. This is close to the position I was in during the last collar change and I’ll be able to hold it throughout the whole… procedure. I’m very well trained in that regard.”

Buffy nodded, wearing a look of disgust. “Yeah, I know. And seeing you like this makes me wish your trainer was still alive… so I could kill him. Painfully.”

Spike closed his eyes then dropped his head and whispered, “We can stop this if it’s too much for you.”

Buffy reached out and slipped her fingers under his chin then gently lifted his face and waited until he opened his eyes. When he did, she smiled reassuringly. “I’ll deal, Spike. I want you to get better, get past this shit, and if this is what it takes, then I’ll deal. You need it.” She let go of his chin and started fumbling with the knot in the scarf. “Crap. The asshole pulled it too tight. I could tear it… Go Go Slayer Strength… but since it’s silk, I’d probably break your neck in the process. Hang on.” She left the room and Spike heard her rummaging around in her weapons chest then she went into the bathroom.

When she came back, she was holding a small, wickedly sharp dagger. She showed it to Spike. “Angel gave this to me back in Sunnydale. Seems fitting that I should use it for this.” She set a small bottle on the nightstand then gently tipped Spike’s head to the side. “Okay, from what I read in your binder, I have to remove this collar then demonstrate my possession and put the new collar on when I’m done, right?”

Spike’s voice was quiet and full of shame. “Yes, Mistress.”

Buffy shuddered in disgust at how defeated he sounded. _Oh yeah… rip his fucking nuts right off. Then wait for them to grow back and rip them off again._ She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Okay. Here we go.” She sliced through the scarf in one quick movement and Spike flinched violently even though the blade never touched his skin. Buffy let the cloth fall to the floor beside the chair then she set the dagger on the nightstand next to the necklace. She straddled Spike and cupped his face in her hands before placing a gentle kiss on his lips. “You’re mine, Spike. Always mine.”

Spike shivered, his eyes closing and a low moan escaping his lips when Buffy’s mouth moved to his ear and neck. She nibbled and sucked, rocking her hips slowly against him until he was hard and throbbing. She scooted back just a bit then reached over and grabbed the bottle. She flipped open the cap, squirted some lube into her palm, then wrapped her hand around his erection and started stroking slowly as she set the bottle back down. “Are you mine, Spike?” 

Spike groaned in pleasure and nodded. “Yes. I’m yours.”

“And do you believe that I’m never getting rid of you?” She squeezed just a bit harder and her strokes sped up. 

Spike started flexing his hips, thrusting into her hand as he panted, “Yes, I believe you.”

Buffy stopped stroking and Spike whimpered. She opened her hand and Spike’s cock slapped wetly against his belly. He whimpered again. “Open your eyes, Spike, and tell me.”

Spike opened his eyes, the blue orbs glazed with lust and need. “I’m yours, Mistress.”

“Call me Buffy. Not Mistress.”

He flexed his hips, his cock bobbing against his stomach. “I’m yours, Buffy, please. I’m yours.”

Buffy felt the rage boiling up inside her. This wasn’t right. Treating Spike like this wasn’t right and it was making her sick to her stomach. She swallowed hard, managing to keep the emotions off her face as she reached for him and started stroking again, putting a little Slayer strength into her grip because she knew he liked that. If she was going to be forced to molest him… again… then at least she was going to make sure he enjoyed the experience. She leaned forward and pulled a nipple into her mouth, sucking sharply as she slipped her other hand down between his legs to massage his balls. No Slayer strength there, though. She’d made that mistake once back in Sunnydale and Spike had been out of commission for nearly a week. 

Spike’s head fell back against the chair and his breathing became ragged. Buffy sat up and continued to stroke and massage, her stroking hand moving just a bit faster as Spike’s breathing sped up. His breath hitched and then his whole body tensed as he came with a howl, several jets of milky white fluid spurting into the air between them to land on his chest and belly.

He collapsed back into the chair – still holding his hands behind it, Buffy noticed – and panted, “Yours, Buffy. Always yours.”

Buffy let him go, wiping her hand on her sweats, then she reached over and snagged the necklace from the nightstand. She fastened it around Spike’s neck with a forcefully stated, “My Spike. Mine,” and he visibly relaxed, his arms moving from behind the chair to hang loosely at his sides.

Buffy cupped his face again and leaned forward, placing another gentle kiss on his lips. “Did it work?”

He nodded, still panting. “Yeah, it did.” He blinked his eyes open and smiled. “Quite a bit more enjoyable this go round, too. The lube was a nice touch. Thank you.” 

She dropped her gaze. “You’re welcome, I guess, but I don’t know why you’re thanking me for molesting you… again.”

Spike reached out and lifted her face. “You didn’t molest me, pet. Either time. I don’t feel violated in the least by what you’ve done, so please don’t feel bad about it. What you did helped me, and you made sure I enjoyed it, that it was pleasurable for me, so thank you.”

Buffy mumbled, “You’re welcome,” then stood up. “I’ll get something for…” She motioned toward his chest, belly, and cock. “Be right back.”

She returned a moment later with a wet hand towel and cleaned him up. She was about to step away when Spike caught her wrist and pulled her back onto his lap. She wouldn’t look at him as she sat there, clutching the soiled cloth in her hand. Spike took it and tossed it at the hamper then he repositioned her so that she was straddling him again. “Pet? Could you look at me, please?” She raised her eyes to his and he smiled warmly at her. “I’ll stop thankin’ you because I can see that it bothers you, but know that I am thankful for all you’ve done for me. I love you, Buffy.”

She tried on a small smile and found that it fit. “I love you, too, Spike.”

He leaned forward for a quick kiss then sat back again, reaching up to lightly trace his fingers along the necklace. “Should only need this for another month or so. Once we complete the blood bond, I’ll be able to take it off.”

Buffy frowned. “A month? Why a month? Do you think I’m not sure or something? Not ready? Because I am. I’m not gonna change my mind, Spike.”

Spike leaned forward again, nuzzling at her neck. “My fangs won’t be completely grown in until then. If we did it now, I could inadvertently hurt you, and I don’t want that. Plus, shortened fangs won’t leave a proper mark.”

“Oh. Okay.” Buffy moaned as Spike’s lips and teeth worked at her neck and ear, nipping and kissing. She scooted forward, rocking her hips against him as she trailed her hands down his arms, tugging gently until she’d moved his arms around her, placing his hands on her ass. “Please touch me, Spike.”

He slid his hands into her pants, gripping her bum tightly and pulling her hard against his renewed erection. “Would be easier without all the clothes, luv.”

Buffy smiled then sat back. She lifted her shirt and tugged it over her head. Spike blinked at her sports bra then smirked slightly. “Don’t recall you ever wearin’ one of those.”

Buffy shrugged and removed the gauze squares. They were spotted with a few drops of dark maroon blood. “It was keeping the girls from moving too much so they wouldn’t hurt.”

Spike eyed the gauze as Buffy balled up the pieces and tossed them into the trash can. “I didn’t even think to ask how badly you were hurt. Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I’m fine… Slayer healing is awesome… and it’s okay that you didn’t ask. You were kind of busy.” She stripped the bra off the same way she had the shirt and dropped it to the floor. “But you can examine them if you’re worried.”

Spike licked his lips then dipped his head and dragged the flat of his tongue across her right nipple. Buffy moaned and clutched his head as he latched on and started to suck and nibble, gently at first then harder when she started rocking her hips in time with his motions. He released her with a small pop and moved to her left breast, giving it the same attention. When he let that one go, Buffy was panting, her face was flushed, and Spike could smell the tantalizing aroma of her arousal. 

He slid his hands out of her pants and grasped her waist, lifting her off his lap. “Lose the pants, pet. Want to be inside you. Now.”

Buffy skinned out of her sweats and kicked them away then stepped toward the bed. “Don’t want to use that chair anymore. I’m probably gonna burn it.” She crawled up onto the bed and lay on her back, bending her knees and spreading her legs wide. “Come in, Spike.”


	37. Property

Service Unit  
Chapter Thirty Seven – Property

Spike didn’t have to be told twice. He was across the room and up on the bed with the head of his cock teasing her entrance before she could blink. He hooked her left leg over his shoulder then slid slowly into her. God, she was tight. His eyes rolled up into his head as her walls closed around him, molding to him like a custom-fit silken glove. He’d never get tired of this feeling, no matter how long he lived. She was his perfect place, his heaven, and she always would be.

He pulled back then started up a slow rhythm, driving deep into her and, of course, doing that little twist of his hips on the down stroke. It was a lot more enjoyable this time without the blinding abdominal pain, and he was thankful he’d already climaxed. Even with the small bit of Service Unit compulsion still lurking on the fringes of his mind telling him to hold off his own pleasure until she’d achieved hers, the noises she was making, combined with her scent and the way she was clutching him would have been enough to tip him right over the precipice if she hadn’t already taken the edge off. 

One of her hands was on his arm and the other on his bum, her nails digging into his flesh as she groaned, “Harder, Spike. Please. Harder.”

He hooked her other leg over his shoulder, nearly folding her in half, then started thrusting hard. She was holding herself in place by digging her fingernails into the backs of his arms and he hissed quietly at the small, sharp bursts of pain. This was pain he didn’t mind experiencing, though, because it showed how lost in pleasure Buffy was, and it made him feel good to know he was the cause of that pleasure. He’d always gotten off more on seeing her getting off than he had on the actual shagging. 

Her legs were trembling now, signifying that she was close… not that the gasps and grunts and tightening of her grasp on his arms didn’t tell him the same thing. He leaned down, changing the angle of his thrusts just a bit, then slammed into her once, twice... on the third thrust she threw her head back and screamed, her back arching and her arms flying out to the sides, her fingers grasping desperately at the comforter as she tried to anchor herself.

Her channel was nearly strangling him as it pulsed in rhythmic contractions and he stayed buried deep, twisting his hips to draw out her orgasm for as long as he could. When she finally fell back to the bed, sort of melting into it, Spike lowered her legs from his shoulders then rolled, bringing her with him. She collapsed onto his chest in a gasping, trembling heap with him still hard and buried inside her.

He stroked her back and hair, placing light kisses on her head until she stopped trembling and twitching, then he flexed his hips slightly. Buffy moaned as he moved inside her then she sat up, bracing herself with wobbly arms. She looked down at him, starting to rock her hips slowly, and asked, “You didn’t come?”

He shook his head, his hands grasping her hips to assist her movements. “Not yet. Want to get a few more out of you before I do.”

Buffy’s head fell back as she gyrated her hips, her breasts bobbing and her nails digging into his chest as she rode him. “I’m not gonna be able to walk when we’re done, am I?”

Spike thrust up into her, pulling her down hard against him. “Not if I have anythin’ to say about it.”

She looked down at him and whispered, “Can I see your demon?”

Spike paused his thrusting and blinked up at her. “What?”

She raised a hand to his face and stroked his forehead. “I want to have all of you, Spike. Please.”

He sat up and pulled her tightly against him then flexed his hips, earning a pleasured gasp from Buffy. “You **have** all of me. If I bring the demon out, things could get… it’s harder to control myself. Don’t want to scare you.”

She continued to stroke his face, trailing her fingertips along his lips. “It’s okay. I want you to. I want you to let go and not hold anything back. You can be free with me, Spike. I’m not scared.”

Spike’s face shifted under her fingertips and he looked at her with golden eyes. “You want this?”

She cupped his face in her hands and pulled him close, trailing her tongue across one shortened fang. “I want it all.”

Spike growled and scooted forward until his feet touched the floor. He stood, clutching Buffy tightly to him, then stalked across the room and slammed her against the wall. He hooked her legs over his elbows then braced his hands on the wall and set his feet before pulling out nearly all the way then slamming in hard. Buffy’s hands scrabbled for purchase and she wailed in pleasure as he pounded into her with demon strength, his growls becoming louder with each thrust. She reached up above her head and wrapped her hand around a wall sconce then just held on, staring into Spike’s wild, golden eyes.

When she was close, he lowered his head and sank his fangs into her shoulder. He didn’t drink, he just held them there while she came undone, screaming her pleasure at the ceiling. Her channel tightened on him like a vise and he raised his head, adding his roar to her scream as he emptied himself inside her.

XX  
XXXX  
XX

Dawn let herself into Buffy’s apartment and glanced around warily. The sheet moved on the chair in the corner and Dawn nearly jumped out of her skin before she realized that the vampire underneath the sheet had probably caught her scent. She motioned to the man behind her and he stepped through the door, pulling a furniture cart. She waved at the chair. “Just park it by that chair and I’ll make some coffee or something.”

“You’re not going to tell them you’re here?”

Dawn shook her head. “Uh-uh. If I know those two, they’ve probably been screwing six ways from Sunday… might still be… so we’ll just wait out here until they’re done or they wake up or whatever.”

The man looked nervously toward the hallway. “You’re sure I’m okay to be here? In The Slayer’s apartment?”

Dawn walked over to him and raised a hand, gently caressing his face. “You’re my boyfriend, Jason, so yeah, you can be in my sister’s apartment. She’s not going to slay you. She hasn’t slayed any of my boyfriends for a long time, so you’re safe.” Jason didn’t look entirely convinced, but he smiled and Dawn stood up on tiptoe to give him a kiss. Just like all their kisses, it soon became heated and hands started disappearing under clothing to stroke bare skin. 

They broke apart when someone cleared their throat from the hallway. Dawn quickly straightened her shirt and turned to face a smirking Spike. He was leaning against the wall, one eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over a bare chest littered with scratches and bite marks. “Evenin’, Niblet. Didn’t mean to interrupt, but I’m a bit peckish.” He motioned toward the sheet. “He’s tapped, so I’m havin’ some bagged.” He started walking toward the kitchen. “You two want anythin’? Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee would be okay.” Dawn started for the kitchen, pulling Jason along behind her. She smirked over her shoulder at Jason then indicated Spike’s back with a nod of her head. It, too, was littered with scratches. She stopped then leaned up to whisper in his ear, “See? Six ways from Sunday. I told you.” He chuckled and they resumed walking. “Uh… this is Jason, my boyfriend.”

Spike spoke over his shoulder as he stepped through the kitchen door. “I’d gathered that, Bit, unless, of course, you snag random blokes off the street and drag them up to your sis’s flat for a snog. Buffy’ll be out in a few minutes and we’ll do a proper round of introductions then.”

When Buffy stepped into the kitchen a few minutes later – limping just a little like her legs didn’t work quite right – Jason noticeably tensed and sidled a few steps away, placing the island between him and the small blonde woman. Spike’s eyebrow went up again as he sipped at a mug of blood. Buffy walked over to Spike and took the cup of coffee he handed her then leaned up to give him a quick kiss, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. She nibbled on his bottom lip then released her fingers and turned, leaning against the counter. She sipped at her coffee then said, “Hi, Dawn. Who’s this?”

Dawn wrapped her arm around Jason’s waist. “This is Jason, my boyfriend.”

Buffy smiled at the young man. “Hi, Jason. Nice to meet you. I’m Buffy.”

Jason blushed slightly and stammered, “I’ve heard of you, Ms. Summers.”

Buffy cocked an eyebrow and smirked up at Spike. “Ms. Summers? Am I so ancient that I’m Ms. Summers now?”

Jason sputtered, trying to get out an apology, until Dawn reached up and laid a finger across his lips. She glared at Buffy. “Stop scaring him!”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Scaring him? I haven’t done anything even remotely threatening.”

Spike chuckled. “I think you’ve been unusually pleasant.”

Buffy elbowed him lightly in the ribs, causing him to chuckle again, then she looked over at Jason. “You can just call me Buffy, okay?” She indicated Spike with a nod of her head. “And this is Spike.”

Jason’s eyes widened and he took a stumbling step forward. “You’re William the Bloody. I’ve heard about you, too. I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you. Wow.”

Spike looked him over then leaned forward and sniffed deeply. “I’m Spike… and you’re not human.”

Buffy’s gaze flew to Jason and she stood up straight, her hand settling on the counter next to a large mug that held several wooden spoons and a BBQ fork. “Vampire?”

Spike shook his head. “No, but he’s part demon.”

Dawn stepped in front of Jason and held up her hands. “He’s a relative of Clem’s, Buffy. He’s a good demon, I swear. Harmless.”

Buffy relaxed and Dawn did, too, just as soon as Buffy’s hand had moved from away from anything that could be used as a weapon. Buffy resumed her lean against the counter and sipped at her coffee again. “Clem? How is he? Haven’t seen him since Sunnydale.”

Jason smiled over Dawn’s shoulder. “He’s good. He’s in LA now.”

Spike stared intently at Jason then he sniffed again. “Clem, huh? You must not have a lot of demon blood in you, being that Clem’s sort is rather… distinctive… in appearance.”

“I’m a quarter. My mom’s human and my dad’s half-demon. His mom is Clem’s sister.”

Buffy set her coffee down and asked, “Can you do the thing with your face?” then she mimed tentacles springing out of her face with her fingers.

Jason nodded. “Yeah, but mine aren’t very long.”

Spike drained his mug then rinsed it and set it in the sink. “What ‘bout kittens? You eat ‘em?”

Jason grimaced. “No. Don’t even like cats, really. I’m more of a dog person… uh… not to eat, though. Kind of makes me the black sheep of the family, I guess.”

Spike nodded at him then turned to Buffy and leaned down, kissing her soundly. When he straightened up, Buffy was slightly breathless and her cheeks were flushed. “Gonna go get dressed, kitten, then I’ll load him up and we can go.’

Buffy stammered, “O..okay.”

Spike started out of the kitchen and Jason followed him. “Dawn said there’s a dead demon to load up first. I’ll do that really quick so the cart’s free when you’re ready.”

Spike’s steps faltered just a little then he clenched his hands briefly into fists. He nodded tersely and said quietly, “That will be fine. Thank you. It’s in the guest bedroom.”

Dawn waited until they were both gone then fanned herself as she walked toward Buffy. “Wow. Hot.”

Buffy reached up and smoothed her hair, her cheeks flushing even more. “Uh… yeah. He… um… feels better.”

Dawn smirked. “Judging from the way you were limping when you walked in here and the scratches all over him, I guess he feels a **lot** better.”

Buffy smiled, her cheeks still flaming. “Yeah.” She leaned close to Dawn and whispered. “He brought me breakfast in bed because I couldn’t walk at all until just a little while ago.”

Dawn nodded. “Jason’s done that for me a few times… for the same reason.”

Buffy giggled. “God, Dawnie, I can’t believe we’re talking about this!”

Dawn shrugged. “Why shouldn’t we? Our boyfriends are hot and they’re really good in bed. I’d say we both hit the jackpot. Did you guys do the blood thing yet?”

Buffy shook her head. “Not yet. I told him I wanted him to bite me, so he wants to wait until his fangs grow in.”

“Yeah, I can see why he’d want to. Everything I’ve read says that if he bites you during sex it’s an instant mind-blowing orgasm… for both of you.”

“Everything you’ve read is right.”

Dawn’s eyes widened. “But I thought…”

Buffy tugged her shirt down off one shoulder, showing Dawn the fang marks Spike had left. “He didn’t even drink, he just bit, and his fangs aren’t even fully grown in. We both collapsed and couldn’t move at all for almost half an hour. And if just biting with short fangs is like that, what’s it gonna be like when he drinks with full fangs?”

“Guess you should make sure you’re already laying down so you don’t hurt yourselves. And make sure you have snacks nearby so you won’t starve to death. How long until his fangs grow in?” 

“About a month.”

Dawn smirked and elbowed Buffy. “So that’s a month of practice for the big day.”

Buffy blushed again. “Spike doesn’t need practice. At all. He’s got it down cold.” She leaned close again and whispered, “Twelve times, Dawnie. Twelve. In just the first four hours. It would’ve been more, but I passed out.”

Dawn smiled wistfully. “Yeah… Jason’s done that to me, too.”

“And then he woke me up in a really, really good way…”

Dawn interjected, “Tongue?” 

Buffy blushed crimson and nodded. “Yeah. And fangs. And then… four more.”

“Bet that whole ‘doesn’t have to breathe thing’ is pretty cool, too, huh?”

Buffy sighed happily. “Yeah. It is.”

Spike stood just outside the kitchen, smiling like a loon. He’d waved Jason past him when they’d stepped into the living room and Jason had snagged the cart and headed for the guest bedroom. It was a bit disconcerting and awkward to hear Buffy discussing his sexual prowess with Niblet, of all people, but his chest was still puffed out with pride. He’d satisfied his lady… more than satisfied her by the sound of it. 

He turned from the kitchen and walked down the hall, his steps slowing the closer he got to the guest bedroom. He wasn’t sure if he could go in there. He stopped just outside the door, listening to Jason moving around the room, then he took a deep, steadying breath and stepped in. His knees started to shake and he locked them, forcing down the urge to kneel. Even though his trainer was dead, the compulsion was still there and it pissed him off. He clenched his hands into fists and made himself take another step. 

Jason had spread a tarp on the floor next to the body and was rolling the dead demon onto it. The body had bloated in the time it had been lying there and it rolled easily. Spike clenched his teeth together and bent down, lifting the edge of the tarp closest to him and laying it over the demon’s body. Jason nodded his thanks then tucked the tarp around the body and rolled it up like a rug. He looked up at Spike and nodded at one end of the roll. “Could you help lift it?”

Spike nodded and bent down, crumpling the edge of the tarp in his fists. His trainer wasn’t heavy, being as small as he was, but to Spike, it felt like he was trying to lift Buckingham Palace. The creature in the tarp had caused him so much pain over the years, and remembered agonies flashed through Spike’s body at numerous points. Spike flinched, a motion unnoticed by Jason, then he steeled himself and lifted. Together they swung the carcass up onto the cart and it landed with a thump. 

Jason produced a trio of bungee cords and started securing the bundle to the cart. When he’d finished, he stood and nodded toward the door. “I need to go pull the van around to the loading dock. I should be back in a few minutes for the cart.”

Spike nodded, then swallowed, and managed to ask, “You need help loading?”

Jason shook his head. “No. I can just push the cart right into the van then roll the body off.”

Spike nodded again. “All right. I’ll get my kit on and meet you in the livin’ room.”

“Cool.” Jason left and Spike listened until he heard the front door close. He stared at the lump on the cart then turned and looked at the wall Buffy had slammed his trainer into, flinching again. The guide stick was lying in the middle of the scatter of broken picture frames and glass. Spike walked over and looked down at it. The stick wasn’t anything special, just a thin plastic tube with metal end caps, but evil and pain seemed to emanate from its polished surface.

Spike knelt, being mindful of the broken glass littering the floor, then sat back on his feet, resting his hands on his thighs as he contemplated the stick. He could reach out and touch it if he wanted to, and his left hand twitched but didn’t move from his leg. He had to force his hand to lift away from his leg and make its shaky way toward the stick, but he couldn’t get his fingers any closer than two or three inches from the shaft. He clenched his right hand into a fist then gritted his teeth and tried to force his left hand closer, but it was a no-go. There was no way he was ready to touch that thing. He didn’t know if he’d ever be ready. He sighed as he drew his hand back and got to his feet. Someone else would have to pick it up and put it on the cart with his trainer. 

Spike turned toward the door and had just lifted his foot off the floor when there was a flash of light. He stumbled backwards; his foot coming down on a broken shard of glass as a figure suddenly appeared in a puff of purple smoke. Spike goggled as something that looked like an old man stepped toward him, leaning heavily on an old gnarled staff. Coal-black eyes glinted in the somewhat dim light of the room and Spike realized that although the figure looked like an old man; it wasn’t. It was a demon. Spike had only seen him once, and he’d been fuzzy-headed from the sedatives, but he recognized the owner of the slave compound – his trainer’s boss. The demon that had taken Spike as payment for some sort of bargain with Angelus.

The demon looked Spike up and down, his eyes pausing for several seconds on Spike’s new ‘collar’ before he said in a menacing voice, “I have come to retrieve my property.”


	38. Recompense

Service Unit  
Chapter Thirty Eight – Recompense

Spike stumbled several steps backwards, not even noticing the broken glass slicing into his bare feet as he stammered, “I’m not…” He pointed to the necklace. “The ownership transfer was completed.”

The demon huffed out an irritated sigh. “I can see that, Unit 238.” He looked Spike up and down, a frown forming on his face. “Why are you clothed?”

Spike blinked. “Because I want…” The demon’s eyes narrowed menacingly and Spike sputtered, “Because Buffy… uh… my owner… wishes me to be so.”

“She does not enjoy looking upon her slave?”

Spike winced. “She um… she does, but… when others are here, um… she wishes me to be clothed.”

The demon smirked. “I am surprised she does not have you on display, showcasing your…” he looked directly at Spike’s crotch, “…assets, and inviting her friends and family to use you at will.” The demon looked Spike over again. “I see your owner has been lax in regards to enforcing the rules by allowing you to wear clothing, to speak without permission, to move around freely...” He glanced at the floor in front of Spike’s feet then raised his eyes, his gaze pinning Spike like a bug on a card. “Get on your knees, slave.”

Spike’s knees started to bend of their own volition and he fought to keep standing, but it was as if his legs had been turned into limp noodles. He sank gracefully to the floor then winced as several broken bits of glass sliced through his jeans. The demon nodded and smiled. “Now you are as you should be… almost.” With a sigh, Spike moved his hands behind him, clasping his right wrist tightly in his left hand. The demon’s smile widened and his eyes tracked around the room then returned to Spike, boring into him as the smile on his wizened face turned wicked. “I have been contacted by several of your regular clients. They are quite eager to use you again and have made generous offers for your return to service. Incredibly generous offers.” His coal-black eyes flashed with greed and malice. “Should your owner wish to contract with me for your use, I would be amenable. Renting you out for only a few hours per week could make her rich beyond her wildest dreams.” 

Spike blanched and felt his gorge rise as some of his ‘regular clients’ cycled through his mind. His ‘regulars’ had generally been the most sadistic of his renters. They’d done the most damage, caused the most pain, and had taken the most pleasure in brutally raping him as many times as they could before their lease was up. He started to tremble as he sputtered, “N..no. Not again. Please. I can’t… she promised she wouldn’t… Please… no…”

Buffy’s voice came from the doorway and it was as hard as stone. “Yeah, I promised. Nobody is going to **use** you ever again.” Dawn and Jason were standing just behind her and Dawn looked ready to commit murder. Jason had his arms wrapped around the slim brunette and Spike could see him whispering into her ear even as she strained to move forward. Buffy waved them aside then looked at Spike and grimaced, her face melting into an angry scowl. She indicated the slave owner with a nod of her head. “Please tell me he’s a demon.” Spike nodded feebly and Buffy wrapped her hand in the demon’s robe then jerked him backwards. He flew through the doorway and crashed into the opposite wall of the hallway, landing in a heap, his staff clattering to the floor beside him. 

Dawn shouted, “Yeah! Kick his ass!” as Jason struggled to hold her back. He managed to pull her tight against him and put his mouth to her ear again. She gave an angry huff then stopped struggling and just stood there glaring daggers at the demon.

Buffy spoke quietly over her shoulder, “You can get up, Spike,” and then she stalked over to the demon with her fists clenched. “I don’t give a shit how much money they offer. Spike is NOT! FOR! RENT! Got it? E. V. E. R.” She nodded over her shoulder at the cart. “His trainer didn’t get that at first, but I managed to pound it in to him… eventually.” She raised one small fist. “Do you get it or do I need to say it again?”

The demon’s eyes tracked to a once-again-standing Spike and then up to Buffy’s furious face. “No, you do not need to say it again, Madam Slayer. You are not interested in contracts for rental. Understood.”

“Good.” Buffy lowered her fist. “Now, since you seem to know who I am, why don’t you tell me who the hell you are and what the hell you’re doing in my apartment?”

XX  
XXXX  
XX

Spike stood there, staring straight ahead; anger, fear, and shame surging through him. The shame and anger were directed at himself because he’d buckled too easily. All it had taken was one command from the demon slaver and he’d dropped to his knees, slipping right back into his Service Unit mindset like he hadn’t spent the past few days fighting against it with everything he had. The fear, though… the fear was a living thing crawling around in his belly. He desperately wanted to cower, to find someplace to hide so the demon couldn’t find him and take him back to the slave compound. He couldn’t do that again; he’d never survive another vacation in Service Unit Land. He wished with everything in him that Buffy would turn the slaver into a greasy spot on the hallway floor, because a dead demon wouldn’t be able to take him anywhere.

A tiny bit of the anger sliced off and pointed itself at the demon still lying on the hallway floor. _‘Why did he have to show up here? Now? Doesn’t he have other things to do? Other demons to torture into insanity? Buffy completed the transfer, so what is he even doing here? He has no rights to me… unless…’_ The comment about Buffy not enforcing the rules popped into Spike’s mind. _‘Is he here to… repossess me? Because I’m wearing clothes? Speaking? Can he do that? How did he even know about it?’_

Spike’s body was quivering as he tried to fight the emotions roiling through him, and to top it all off, that damn compulsion to stay still until ordered to move had been fired up by the memories of his slavery. He stared at Buffy’s back, trying to shut the memories away, resist the compulsion, and squash the fear crawling around inside him all at the same time. His muscles were thrumming with tension and he twitched sharply when he suddenly felt his ridges starting to form. His demon was coming forward. Spike let him, grateful for the help. His mind had been so full that he hadn’t even thought of calling on the demon.

The fearful tension slowly ebbed out of Spike’s body and he took a deep, calming breath then focused his golden-eyed gaze on the demon slaver. The angry tension was still there, though, and it was amped up a bit by his demon’s strength. If the slaver did anything that Spike’s demon found even the tiniest bit suspicious, he’d end up as bitty chunks of flesh scattered around Buffy’s flat. Images of what had become of Uposs flashed across Spike’s mind and he curled his hands into fists, readying himself for Uposs Part Two. _‘Bring it, mate. You’re not takin’ me anywhere.’_

XX  
XXXX  
XX

The demon reached for his staff then used it to help him climb slowly to his feet. “I am Blazczak, of the Clan Yzalzak, and I own the finest stable of Service Units in four dimensions.” He raised his chin and puffed out his chest a bit, clearly proud of that fact.

Buffy was spectacularly unimpressed. “Okay. That’s the who, now I need the what.” Blazczak blinked in confusion and Buffy rolled her eyes. “WHAT are you doing here?”

“I have come to retrieve my property.” 

Dawn lunged forward and Jason scrambled to hold onto her as she screeched, “Like hell, you freak! You’re not taking Spike! He’s not yours!” 

Buffy’s fists were clenched again as she moved to stand between Blazczak and Spike. She looked the demon directly in the eye then said in a very firm, yet scarily quiet voice, “Try to take Spike out of here and see what happens. I dare you.”

Dawn shouted, “I double-dog dare you! You’re not touching him!” Blazczak glanced at Spike then raised a placating hand to Buffy, ignoring Dawn altogether, which pissed her off. She shouted again, louder this time, “Go ahead! Try! Buffy will ram her foot so far up your ass you’ll get athlete’s tongue!” 

Buffy turned slightly to Dawn and made a ‘calm down’ motion with her hands. “I’ve got this, Dawnie. I won’t let him take Spike, okay?”

“Damn right you won’t! C’mon! Kick his ass!” Buffy shot a look at Jason and he nodded then started tugging until he’d wrestled Dawn into the living room. There was the low rumble of his voice and then Dawn groused, “Fine! Okay! I’ll let Buffy handle it.” Shoes stomped across the floor then stopped, “But we’re getting our weapons from the van, just in case,” and then the front door slammed.

Blazczak blinked at the commotion then shifted his gaze to Buffy. “I am not here for your unit, Madam Slayer.”

Buffy’s fist flew without warning and Blazczak was spun around to crash into the wall again as she shouted, “Is everyone in your dimension a fucking moron? He’s not a unit! He’s not a thing! And his name is Spike! We’ve said it like four times already! God!”

Blazczak climbed to his feet again with a tired sigh. Dealing with humans was exhausting… and starting to be painful. He’d let her first violent outburst go unremarked because he’d thought she’d been protecting her property, which was completely understandable, but now... Humans who learned of the existence of demon pleasure slaves could be divided into three groups: those who had no problem with the idea and would gladly pay the fee to use one, those who had no strong feelings either way, and those who reacted to the idea with violence and disgust. Being that the Slayer had received one of his best service units as a gift, Blazczak had assumed that she numbered among the first group – those who had willingly paid large sums of money to spend days or weeks taking their pleasure in a demon slave’s body – but, based on her latest violent outburst, she was apparently a member of the third group. He hated it when his assumptions were wrong. 

Not to mention that the idea of a Slayer protecting a demon was mind boggling. She was known throughout several dimensions – her fierceness, strength, and high demon body count had been the subject of many conversations – and yet there she stood with her fists clenched; protecting a creature she was destined to destroy. What was special about this particular specimen? What had he done to earn the Slayer’s protection? He had a soul; was that what made him special? Or was it something else? Blazczak looked the vampire over closely, noting the scratches and other marks littering his chest. Unit 238 was exceptionally adept at bringing pleasure to females, and it was blatantly obvious that the Slayer had taken advantage of those skills. She’d used her property as it was meant to be used, but she wasn’t treating the vampire as property; she was treating him like a man. He also wasn’t comporting himself as a service unit. He was wearing clothes and moving around freely instead of kneeling naked and restrained while he waited to be used again.

It was all dreadfully confusing and Blazczak thought it wise to tread carefully around the small woman until he could collect his property and go. “My apologies, Madam Slayer, but I have only known him as Unit 238, being that Angelus never spoke his name to me. I did not absorb your use of his given name because my head is somewhat muddled due to the impact with the wall.” 

Buffy blinked then scowled. “You didn’t talk to Spike at all after you kidnapped him? The trainer’s notes said that Spike talked a lot when he first got there. Talked, yelled, cursed, screamed… You didn’t get his name during any of that?”

“No, Madam. Once I have procured a new unit…” Buffy’s eyes flashed with rage and Blazczak raised his hand again. “Forgive me. Once I have procured a new… demon, they are assigned to a trainer and I have no further contact with them.” He dipped his head in a polite nod. “I apologize for not obtaining your permission prior to speaking to him.” Blazczak motioned toward Spike. “May I have permission?”

Buffy huffed out a frustrated breath. “Oh, for the love of… I am not going through all that crap again. You want to talk? Knock yourself out. Spike’s his own person and nobody needs my permission to talk to him. He also doesn’t need my permission to tell you to ‘bugger off’ or whatever British people say.” 

Blazczak looked over Buffy’s shoulder at Spike, his gaze taking in Spike’s jeans, his clenched fists, and his collar before it tracked up to Spike’s still-golden eyes. “I apologize for the misunderstanding, Spike. It is obvious that Madam Slayer does not expect you to behave as a service unit; therefore, I will desist treating you like one. I would also like to clearly state that I am not here to retrieve you; I am here to retrieve the trainer.”

Spike blinked at Blazczak in surprise as Buffy unclenched her fists with a quiet, “Oh… um...”

Blazczak glanced at her then addressed Spike. “Where is the trainer? I must return him to his duties.”

“Um… he’s right there.” Buffy pointed to the cart. “But the whole duties thing might be a problem. He’s kind of dead.”

Blazczak’s eyes flashed and the air around him crackled with furious energy as he gripped his staff tightly in his fist. The wood creaked audibly as he growled, “Who is responsible for depriving me of my property? They will pay dearly for this! I demand recompense!”

Buffy was about to tell Blazczak where he could stick his recompense, but Spike beat her to the punch, and his smirk could clearly be heard when he said, “Well, now… the responsible party would be the wanker who gave me to you. He snapped the trainer’s neck like a twig.” Spike nodded at the demon’s feet. “Pretty much right where you’re standin’.”

The furious energy dissipated and Blazczak was wearing an eager grin when his eyes moved from the dead trainer to Spike. “Angelus did this? Interesting. I did not think he would perform the same action again, knowing what the consequences would be.”

Spike tilted his head slightly. “Consequences?”

“Depriving me of valuable property was what led to our bargain a century ago. I agreed to leave him be for 100 years and he agreed to compensate me for my loss by giving me ten years of service.” The grin turned decidedly evil. “Although, I am afraid I will have to forego bargaining this time and move directly to punitive action.”

Spike lifted his chin and smiled at Blazczak, his fangy grin also touched with a bit of evil. “I was hopin’ you’d say somethin’ like that.”

“Where is he? I would like him to begin his service immediately.”

Spike blinked as his demon melted away. “You’re not going to train him?”

Blazczak shook his head. “I prefer to not waste the time, and as I am currently short a trainer...” He shot a glance at the cart. “No, I want him earning as soon as possible, so I will assign him to the Outer Chamber, and…” Blazczak paused for a moment, thinking, then he nodded decisively. “Yes. I believe I can find the time to personally oversee his service.”

Spike quirked an inquisitive eyebrow. “I wasn’t given the grand tour or anythin’, and my brochure must have been misplaced, so tell me… What’s the Outer Chamber?”

Blazczak smirked slightly. “It is a service we offer to clients who cannot afford to contract for a fully trained service unit. Clients pay a fixed fee to spend one hour using the unit of their choice. The units are restrained, so no training is required. Special requests – such as the use of certain tools or anything that would cause excessive damage to the unit – require an additional fee, of course. Where is he?”

Spike nodded toward the living room. “Out there, but there’s an issue we need to deal with ‘fore you take him.”

Buffy held up her hand when Blazczak started to speak. “Hold on.” She moved to stand in front of Spike, the glass crunching under her shoes, then leaned up to whisper, “What about retribution? Your demon’s okay with giving Liam up to this guy?”

Spike nodded. “Was the demon who suggested it, pet. Karma and all that. After what I went through because of that tosser; him goin’ through pretty much the same thing is the perfect retribution, bein’ that it should’ve been him goin’ through it in the first place.”

Buffy considered for a moment then nodded. “Okay, Spike. It’s your call. I’ll back whatever you decide to do.” She looked down, motioning to his feet. “Did you know you’re bleeding?” 

“Uh… no.” Spike looked down and grimaced. “Bloody well do now, though.” He lifted one foot and looked at the glass sticking out of the bottom then grimaced again.

Buffy reached for his hand then nodded at the bed. “Sit down and I’ll get the glass out and get you bandaged up,” She looked at Blazczak, “And then he can deal with your thing. Okay?” Blazczak nodded and Buffy motioned to the cart. “Can you do something with him? If not, Jason will take him down to the van.”

Blazczak nodded again and stepped toward the cart. “I will transport him to my dimension then return to collect Angelus.”

Spike pointed at the guide stick and asked quietly, “Buffy, can you give him that, too? Please?”

Buffy squeezed his hand then let go and plucked the stick out of the glass, turning to hand it to Blazczak. “Here. I’ve burned everything else that came with Spike, so I hope you weren’t thinking you were going to get that crap back.”

Blazczak shook his head. “If you had signed a rental contract, then I would require reimbursement for any damage or loss, but once an ownership transfer is completed, the unit and all its accessories become yours to do with as you please.” He laid his hand on the tarp-wrapped bundle and looked at Spike with a wicked twinkle in his eye, “And the fees I collected during your extended service term more than paid for your accessories, even the custom-made items.” Blazczak smirked at Spike’s flinch then said, “I will return shortly,” and then the bundle and the demon disappeared, leaving the cart and bungee cords behind.


	39. Consequences

Service Unit  
Chapter Thirty Nine – Consequences

Buffy was patting down the last bit of tape on Spike’s left foot when Blazczak reappeared in his customary flash of light and cloud of smoke. Buffy waved a hand in front of her face and glared at him. “Is that really necessary? You’re gonna set off the smoke detectors.”

Blazczak glanced at her without responding then spoke to Spike, “What is the issue we must deal with before I take Angelus?”

Being ignored apparently didn’t sit well with either Summers sister, and Buffy looked like she was about to stand up and start throwing punches. Spike laid a hand on her arm then leaned down and gave her a quick kiss before he whispered, “I’ve got this one, pet. You said it was my call, remember? Demons take statements like that literally, so he’ll only deal with me now.” She threw a glare at Blazczak then nodded curtly. Spike kissed her again then stood up and started hobbling out of the bedroom, motioning to Blazczak to follow. “You’re aware of his curse, yeah? The soul?”

“I am, although I am not sure why it matters. You have a soul, but it did not interfere with your ability to adequately service clients. In fact, it made you more desirable to some… and they paid a fee commensurate with their desire.”

Spike flinched again but kept hobbling. He’d managed to bury several large shards of glass into the bottoms of his feet and one had nearly sliced his right pinky toe clean off, but there was an upside to the pain he was currently in. As soon as Liam was settled into his new accommodations at the slave compound, Buffy had promised to do everything she could to make Spike forget about his feet.

Spike tried to think about what Buffy was going to be doing to him in the near future instead of what his renters had done to him for years as he made his way slowly toward Liam. He freed the corners of the sheet then lifted it off the vampire. Liam was snarling as his face was revealed, but when his eyes fell on Blazczak, he paled and his snarl faded away. He looked up at Spike and saw the wicked grin the younger vampire was sporting then shook his head forcefully. Spike nodded and hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the demon then carefully mouthed, “He’s taking you with him for killing the trainer.” He reached out and tapped the rubber ball crammed into Liam’s mouth. “And no talkin’ your way out of it this time, you ponce.” Spike bent down so that he was at eye level then propped his hands on his knees and mouthed clearly, “You get to suffer the same torments I had to. Hope you enjoy them as much as I did.” Liam’s eyes went wide with fear and he shook his head again. Spike leaned forward and planted a kiss on Liam’s forehead then straightened up. “My demon is practically giddy at the thought of what’s coming to you, Sire.” He laughed. “And what’s going to be coming IN you.” Liam stared at Spike for a long minute then his shoulders slumped and his head drooped forward in defeat. 

Spike chuckled quietly then moved to the loveseat and sat down, turning to prop his feet up on the arm. “I’d like the soul removed ‘fore you take him. We’ll have to do some research to figure out how to do that, and we’ll have to call in the witch, but it shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.”

Blazczak slipped his hand into a pocket of his robe then removed it and waved it in Liam’s direction. Liam jerked violently then thrashed his head back and forth a few times before he threw it back, the tendons in his neck straining. Glowing streams of light flowed out of Liam’s eyes then coalesced in Blazczak’s palm. The ball of light flashed once then dimmed and Blazczak closed his fingers over it, stepping forward with his hand held out to Spike. “It is done.”

Spike sat up and Blazczak opened his fingers to reveal a large, glowing crystal. Spike took it and held it up, watching the swirls of golden light. “That’s the soul?”

“Yes.”

Spike whispered, “It’s that easy to remove? Why didn’t you remove mine?”

“I saw no need, and, like I said, having a soul made you more desirable to some.”

Spike stared at the crystal as he thought of all he’d endured. And trying to endure all of that without his soul? He shivered and closed his fingers around the crystal. He’d have never survived – not with his sanity intact.

Spike jumped slightly when Blazczak spoke. “You may leave the soul contained within the crystal or destroy the crystal to release it to the ether. It is your choice.”

Spike murmured, “My choice,” then he looked up. “How long do you plan to keep him? Might have to put this back when you’re done with him.”

“The property he deprived me of was exceedingly valuable, so it will take years for Angelus to work off his debt to me, even with the high traffic volume of the Outer Chamber.” 

“How many years?”

“That depends on how well he performs and how satisfied his clients are with his service. If he performs at least as well as you did, he may be released in approximately twenty years. Poor performance or low client volume will, of course, require a longer period of repayment.”

Spike nodded. “I’ll just hang on to this for a bit then.” He set the crystal on the table next to the love seat then looked up at Blazczak. “Would you answer a question?”

“Of course.”

“The bargain you made with Angelus… leavin’ him be for 100 years… why so long?”

Blazczak shrugged. “He wanted to make a name for himself before he paid his debt, and it was of no consequence to me when he served… be it in ten, fifty, or one hundred years… as long as the debt was paid.” He glanced over at Liam. “My advancing years have made me somewhat less patient, though. I would not make the same bargain today.”

“How’d you know he’d still be around when you came to collect?”

Blazczak smiled another evil little smile. “I do not make bargains that I am not certain I can satisfactorily complete.”

“So… you can see the future?”

“I cannot, but I own several demons with that ability.”

“Right. Uh… Buffy sent him to Hell a few years ago. What if he’d still been there?” 

Blazczak shrugged and waved a hand. “It would not have mattered. I am able to travel to any known dimension, even the one your kind refers to as ‘Hell.’ If Angelus had been there when payment came due, I would have simply traveled there to collect him.”

Spike muttered, “And I’d have most likely been dust in the Hellmouth instead of gettin’ my soddin’ hands cut off in Los Angeles.” 

“Yes, you would have been unavailable.” Blazczak smirked. “I **could** arrange to have your past amended – change the events that brought you to Los Angeles, or I could go far enough back to divert that mob in Prague and you’d never have to travel to Sunnydale – if you would like to make a bargain with me.”

Spike sputtered, “What? You want me to… Are you off your nut? You think I’d deal with you knowin’ the type of ‘payment’ you’d ask for? You can sod right the fuck off, mate. Not. Gonna. Happen. I made my choices and I’ll live with the consequences.”

Blazczak smiled placidly. “As you wish. Have I answered your questions?”

Spike nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Then I will go. It is time for Angelus to suffer the consequences of **his** choices. I will return him to you when his service is complete.”

Spike looked toward the bedrooms, spying Buffy standing mostly out of sight in the hallway, then he looked back up at Blazczak, a wicked smile teasing his lips. “I’d like one more thing ‘fore you take him, if you don’t mind.” Blazczak nodded and Spike said, “I want his fangs.”

XX  
XXXX  
XX

Liam couldn’t hear his own screams as his first client’s enormous cock pounded into his torn hole, but he could feel the blood dripping down his legs and the tears spilling from his eyes. The demon climaxed violently, filling Liam with boiling hot spunk, and Liam howled in agony. The demon pulled out then stood there, breathing harshly as he worked his member back to full hardness. He plunged in again and quivered in pleasure when the vampire screamed. His talons dug into Liam’s hips as he set up a much slower pace, determined to enjoy every minute of the hour he’d paid for.

Blazczak watched as the client drove in one more time then arched back and screeched. With a small smile, he made a tick mark in his ledger as he spoke quietly, “One down, several thousand to go, Angelus.” 

He waved the room attendant forward then motioned to the sobbing vampire who was bent over a metal sawhorse and secured with shackles. “Feed the unit then clean it and prepare it for the next client.” He consulted his ledger. “The client requests that the unit be chained on its back on the larger table, legs chained up and wide, hole lubed but not stretched, penis erect and bound – ring only, nothing for the scrotum, and… oh, that **is** an odd request, but I suppose we can comply, considering he paid quite a bit extra. They will grow back, after all, and quite quickly with the new formulation of sustaining fluid.” 

Blazczak looked over at the attendant with a wicked smile. “The client has requested four syringes filled with holy water so he can inject them into the unit’s penis and testicles.” The attendant nodded and Blazczak rubbed his hands together greedily. “I am quite interested to know how the unit reacts and how long it will take for the parts to grow back. If the healing time between clients can be kept to the ten hour limit, I will offer this procedure as a special service of this unit.” 

The attendant nodded again then left the viewing room and Blazczak turned to his ledger. He did some quick calculations based on the higher fees he would charge for the ‘special’ service then sat back with a smile. “If the syringe procedure is utilized by at least 30% of his clients that would reduce his client load by nearly half. He would repay his debt in only ten years…” he paused, thinking, “or he could continue his service for the full twenty years.” His eyes shone with malice in the near dark of the room and he cackled. “Yes, I think twenty years will do quite nicely.” He cackled again then turned his attention to the service room and watched as Angelus was cleaned and fed. There was screaming, crying, and quite a lot of blood, and then the vampire was left to heal. 

Nearly nine hours later, Blazczak stepped into the viewing room and resumed his seat just as the attendant snapped a ring around the base of the vampire’s erect penis. The attendant removed the small plug that had been vibrating against the vampire’s prostate then picked up a squeeze bottle and inserted the tip into his anus. The bottle and the plug were put away in a cupboard and then the attendant turned to the door to admit the next client. 

A fully healed vampire lay chained on the table with his legs in the air and his once again virgin-tight hole glistening with lube. The client didn’t waste any time, freeing his massive cock as he stepped into the room. He strode quickly to the table then lined himself up and buried himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Liam screamed as he was torn open again. 

The syringes gleamed in the low light and Blazczak leaned forward in anticipation as the client, still thrusting brutally into the screaming vampire, picked up the first one. The vampire’s screams became shrill and piercing when smoke started rising from the head of his penis. Blazczak calmly inserted his ear plugs as the client jabbed the second syringe into the vampire’s left testicle and pressed the plunger.


	40. Invited

Service Unit  
Chapter Forty – Invited

Spike snuggled closer as Buffy’s fingertips trailed lightly through the fuzz on his head. She’d definitely made him forget all about the pain in his feet, several times, and now they were cuddled up in bed, warm and cozy under a blanket. Spike nuzzled Buffy’s bare breast then asked quietly, “What do you think’s happening to him?”

Buffy’s fingers stopped their motion and she murmured, “Probably the same stuff that happened to you.” She started her fingers up again then asked, “Do you regret sending him there?”

Spike didn’t hesitate for even a fraction of a second. “No. Not at all. Wanker deserved it after what he did to me… and you. I’m just wondering what we’re gonna do with him when we get him back. I don’t want to have to take care of him, and if he’s anything like I was when I was delivered to you, he’ll be nothing but a burden to us both.”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah, and I don’t give a crap about his rehabilitation like I do about yours. I don’t even think he could be rehabilitated. He’d have to have some sort of foundation to build on and he just… doesn’t. I guess we could drop him at Wolfram and Hart and let them deal with their ‘Champion.’ It’s probably their fault he went all twisty in the first place.”

“Probably.”

“Or we could dust him.”

“We could, but the damned lawyers would just bring him back like they did with Darla. We could tell Blazczak to keep him, I guess. Not like he’s gonna be any good to the world when he gets back, and then Charlie, Fred, Wes, and Lorne could get themselves out of Evil Incorporated and live somewhat normal lives instead of slowly bein’ digested in the belly of the beast.” 

Buffy leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Spike’s head. “That sounds like the best plan.”

Spike sat up and reached toward the nightstand to pick up the crystal. He twisted it thoughtfully in his fingers for a few minutes then nodded. “Yeah, we’ll leave him there. It’s best for everyone involved; you and me, the LA crew, and especially his daughter. I’ll be able to set her soul free; let her finally be at peace.” He set the crystal back on the nightstand, right next to Liam’s bloody fangs, then snuggled down with Buffy again. “I should call Wes and let him know what’s goin’ on.”

“Already done. Dawn handled it.” Spike tensed and Buffy quickly continued, “Liam was right about the Wolfram and Hart seers knowing when his soul was gone. Wesley called Willow and she called Dawn since I wasn’t answering my phone. Dawn called Wesley and told him that Angel showed up here to make you leave me, but a demon popped in, removed his soul, and then took him to a different dimension because Angelus owed him for a really old debt. So, she told the truth… just not the whole truth.”

Spike sighed in frustration. “Percy’ll try to find the wanker.”

“Probably, but I doubt he’ll be able to. There’s thousands of demon dimensions and, as far as Wesley knows, we have no idea which one Angel’s in. And no, I’m not going to give Wesley the contact information for the slave compound from your binder. Keeping that information to myself is my retribution. So, once Wesley figures out that Angel can’t be found then hopefully he’ll get the hell out of Wolfram and Hart.”

“Not bloody likely. I’ve already tried to convince them to leave, but they were havin’ none of it. That lot can’t see the forest for the bloody trees and they’ll all hang about doin’ everythin’ they can to locate their fearless leader.”

“Well, if they do manage to find him and bring him back, then he’ll be their problem instead of ours. They’re all adults, Spike, and if that’s the life they choose to live, then there isn’t much we can do about it.”

“Yeah, ‘spose you’re right.”

“All we can do is handle our own business and if something happens over there we can help with, then we’ll go help.”

“Yeah.” Spike raised his head. “Hang on a tic. How do you know all this? You’ve been with me since Liam left.”

Buffy giggled. “Yeah, but you passed out after the third time, remember? I went to make something to eat and found a note from Dawn slipped under the door.”

Spike blinked. “Oh.” He laid back down and wrapped his arm tightly around Buffy’s middle. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head then started stroking his hair again.

They’d both been quiet for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, when Spike asked, “Hey, how did I get into your flat without an invite? You didn’t know I was in that crate, right?”

“No. I didn’t know it was you until the hood came off. I asked your trainer the same question and he said that because your demon was suppressed, you didn’t need an invitation.”

Spike lifted himself up and looked at her. “All right, but what about now? My demon’s been back for a while and you’ve not invited me in that I can remember.” His memory flashed back to the romp right after the collar change and he leered wickedly at Buffy. “At least you’ve not invited me into your flat. You did, however, invite me into your quim.”

Buffy blushed slightly then shrugged. “I don’t know. I told you that you lived here after I claimed ownership of you. Maybe that was enough of an invitation.” She blushed a little more. “Or maybe it was the quim invitation.”

Spike leaned in for a kiss then lay back down. “Well, something must have been enough of an invitation, ‘cause here I am.”

“What would happen if the whatever that controls the vampire barrier suddenly decided that it wasn’t enough?”

Spike shrugged. “I heard of one vamp that paid a witch to somehow magic him into a house, but since he wasn’t invited, he was ejected violently out a window… right onto a tree branch. Nobody else has ever tried to bypass the barrier that I know of.” 

Buffy tensed then hurriedly said, “Spike, I invite you in.” She looked around the room. “Did you hear me? He’s invited, so don’t throw him out the window. Okay?”

Spike chuckled. “Thanks for that, luv. My demon thanks you, too.”

Buffy laid her cheek on Spike’s head and murmured, “I met your demon, you know.”

“You did? When?”

“After Liam and the couch. You were in so much pain that I guess you went… away… and your demon showed up.”

“He usually helps me handle pain and I’d been trying to call him back before… that… but he’s never come all the way forward that I know of. He’d been gone so long... maybe he was just out of practice and overshot the mark or something. He didn't... hurt you or anything, did he?"

"No. He was actually really sweet. Kind of like a puppy. He really liked when I rubbed his head, too. He purred like a kitten." 

Spike groaned and lifted a hand to cover his face. "So is he a puppy or a kitten?"

Buffy shrugged. "Kitten, I guess, you know, because of the purring.”

"Great."

Buffy giggled. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. You have a cute little kitteny demon. I promise I won't tell anyone and ruin your Big Bad image." She rubbed her hand over Spike’s head and giggled quietly. “So when’s the purring gonna start?” Spike growled and she giggled again. "He growled like that, too, but only when I said Angel’s name."

"Yeah. My demon's never really cared for that ponce."

"Can't say that I blame him. So... why didn't he attack me? You know, with the whole mindless-killing-machine rep that demons have, I sort of expected him to."

Spike shrugged. "He loves you. He fell in love with you the first time he saw you, when you were dancin’ in the Bronze. That's why I could never kill you, you know, back when I was trying. He wouldn’t let me."

"Demons can love? I know Dru said they could when you had me chained in your crypt, but she’s crazy, so I didn’t really believe her."

"Mine can. Dru's can." He shrugged again. "I think the type of person you were as a human has a lot to do with the type of demon you get when you're turned. Of course, I only really have the vampires in my clan to judge by, but yeah... my demon can love."

Buffy’s voice quavered just a bit when she spoke. "So... you don't love me? Just your demon does?"

Spike's head snapped up and he stared at her intently. "Of course I love you, Buffy. Yes, my demon fell first, but I fell, too. It just took me a little longer because I was still hung up on Drusilla." He leaned down for a kiss then raised his head and smirked. “It’s been said that my demon is the brains of the operation and I’m just the beauty.”

“Said by whom?”

“Me. Just now.”

Buffy laughed and pulled him into a kiss. “You big dork.”

He settled back down and nudged his head against Buffy’s chin until she started stroking his hair again. Buffy smiled warmly and asked quietly, “What do you want to do with your hair when it grows back out? Bleach it or leave it alone?”

“Doesn’t matter to me, pet. After all that’s happened, my hair is fairly low on my priority list, but if you want it bleached, I’ll bleach it.”

“You should do crazy basement hair.”

Spike lifted his head and quirked an eyebrow at her. “I should do what?”

“You know, when you were all crazy in the basement. Your hair was longer and dark with white tips. It was way sexy.”

Spike chuckled and lay back down. “Whatever you want, luv. Whatever you want. I’m yours.”

XX  
XXXX  
XX

Spike leaned down to spit foam into the sink then straightened up, shifting into game face as he did. He carefully scrubbed his fully grown fangs then leaned down to spit again. Today was the day. He was going to complete the blood bond with Buffy. It had come a bit earlier than he’d thought it would. About three weeks earlier. Apparently, feeding on Slayer blood and Liam’s blood had sped up the re-growing process quite a bit. He rinsed and spit one more time then slid his tongue over his fangs, shivering in anticipation of the evening’s events.

His demon melted away as he turned from the sink and made his way to the kitchen, lightly fingering his collar as he entered the living room. “Won’t need this thing in a few hours.” He stepped into the kitchen then walked up behind Buffy and slid his arms around her, leaning down to nibble at her neck as she put the last of the groceries into a cupboard. “You get everything taken care of, pet?”

She closed the cupboard door then pressed back into him with a quiet moan. “Yeah. I’m off work for another week, I bought enough food to feed a Mongol horde, and Paolo knows not to let anybody anywhere near our front door.” She turned her head and caught his lips in a kiss. “I’m gonna go shower and get ready. Anything special I should do for this?”

Spike nodded with a leer. “Yeah. Don’t put on any knickers.”

Buffy smirked. “Not like I could, Spike. I haven’t done laundry in over a week and you shredded my last pair of clean underwear yesterday.”

“That so?” Spike’s hand slid down her leg then lifted the silky skirt she was wearing. She was bare underneath. 

Buffy moaned as his fingers caressed her. “Yeah. I had to go to work and the grocery store today without any.” 

Spike groaned low at how wet she already was as he slid two fingers into her. “How’d that make you feel, luv?”

Buffy gasped and reached out to grip the edge of the counter as she clenched around his thrusting fingers. “Really naughty… and sexy. I’ve been thinking about you all day. I couldn’t wait to get home.”

Buffy squeaked when she was suddenly spun around. Spike lifted her then turned and set her on the island in the middle of the kitchen. He slowly trailed a finger down her neck to the first button of her shirt and murmured, “Couldn’t wait for what, pet?” He flicked the button open then moved to the next one. When her buttons were all undone, he pushed the shirt open and bent down to circle his tongue around a nipple before pulling it sharply into his mouth. He raised his head. “Is that what you were thinking of?”

She nodded. “That, and… more.” She reached up and grasped the back of his neck, pulling his head down to her other breast. Spike latched onto it, sucking hard as she pressed it into his mouth. He alternated between the two as he slid his hand up under her skirt again. She was positively sopping and the tantalizing aroma was driving him wild.

He dropped to his knees in front of her then slowly pushed her skirt up as he opened her legs. He licked his lips then dove in, burying his tongue deep inside her. Her taste burst on his tongue and he growled against her flesh as his demon came forward. He licked, nipped, and sucked as she raised her feet to his shoulders and gripped his head tightly in her hands.

It didn’t take long. Buffy had been ready for this for hours, and when she looked down at him, gazing into his amber eyes as he feasted on her, it only took one hard suck to send her right over the edge. She came undone as Spike continued to suck and lick, determined to get every last drop of her delicious nectar.

Neither one noticed the flash of light from the living room or the drifting purple smoke.


	41. Request

Service Unit  
Chapter Forty One – Request

Spike rose to his feet, popping open the buttons of his jeans as he did. He slid them down far enough to free his erection then pressed in close, sliding easily into her as she wrapped her legs around his waist and lay back on the island.

Buffy gasped, “Now? We’re doing it now?”

Spike shook his head as he thrust. “No. This’ll take the edge off a mite so we can take our time later.” He slid his hands under her hips, gripping hard, then leaned forward and growled, “Hang on to something, Slayer, this is gonna be hard and fast.”

Buffy gripped the edge of the counter and held on tight as Spike slammed into her, grunting with each thrust. When she was close, he leaned down and sank the tips of his fangs into her breast, flicking the nipple with his tongue. The bite sent her sailing over the edge and her pulsing walls pulled Spike over with her. He released her breast and arched back, frozen in ecstasy as Buffy’s walls continued to contract in rhythmic waves around him.

He shuddered then thrust gently one more time before he collapsed onto her, breathing fast. Buffy was breathing just as fast underneath him and she panted, “That was just an edge? Wow.”

Spike chuckled as he lifted himself off her and disengaged. “Wait ‘till I bite you for the blood bond.” He leaned down and licked the few drops of blood from the bite, sealing the small wounds, then he pulled her up and helped her down to the floor, holding her until she was steady enough to stand on her own. He tucked himself in then buttoned his jeans and took her hand. “You should get cleaned up and then eat something. You’ll need your strength if I’m gonna feed from you.”

They stepped into the living room and stopped short, both blinking in surprise at Blazczak. Spike recovered first and stepped in front of Buffy as she hurriedly tugged at her still open shirt. Blazczak grinned knowingly and said, “I apologize.” He smirked over Spike’s shoulder at Buffy. “I did not mean to interrupt you while you were being serv…” Spike’s sudden growl brought him up short and he transferred the smirk to Spike. “While you were taking advantage of Spike’s… skills.”

Spike checked to see if Buffy had gotten herself covered then he stepped forward. “You’ll shut your gob if you know what’s good for you. What’re you doin’ here?”

Blazczak took several steps sideways then motioned to something lying on the floor at his feet. “I am returning Angelus to you. His service is complete.” 

Spike looked down at the vampire and gasped, his eyes widening in horror, then he quickly turned around, blocking Buffy’s view. She leaned over, trying to peek around him, and Spike grasped her shoulders. “Don’t look at him, Buffy.”

Buffy frowned up at Spike. “Why not? It’s not like I don’t have an idea of what to expect. I’ve already seen the pictures in your binder.”

Spike grimaced and closed his eyes. “I know, but you don’t want to see this. I don’t want you to live with the sight of him burned into your brain for the rest of your life. Please. His condition is my burden, not yours.”

Buffy lifted her hands to his forearms and squeezed. “I’ll be fine, Spike, and I’m just as responsible for his condition as you are.” She lifted his hands off her shoulders then stepped around him and looked at the vampire on the floor.

Liam’s hair was gone and he was terribly thin, almost skeletal. The too-pale skin of his torso was stretched tightly over his ribs and there were two raw and abraded strips of skin about an inch wide – one across his upper chest and the other just below his belly button. And he had no legs. Or arms. His legs had been cut off at mid-thigh and his arms just above the elbow; the stumps covered with what looked like custom made leather caps. 

“Oh my God. What happened to his arms and le…” Buffy’s hand came up to cover her mouth and she turned around, squeezing her eyes shut. 

Spike wrapped his arm over her shoulders and turned her, nudging her toward the bedroom. “I’ll handle this, pet.”

She nodded at him then walked quickly down the hallway, not looking back. Spike waited until the bedroom door had closed behind her then he turned back to Blazczak, swallowing hard to keep down the blood he’d drunk. Thankfully, Buffy hadn’t seen the worst of it. Her viewing angle had been slightly different and the stump of Liam’s right leg had blocked his burned and mutilated genitals and his torn and gaping hole that was leaking blood and demon spunk onto Buffy’s floor. Spike motioned toward what was left of Liam’s genitals and whispered, “What happened to his…” 

Blazczak glanced at the vampire on the floor then looked over at Spike with a satisfied smile. “Holy water injected into his penis and testicles with syringes. His second client paid extra for that and it became the unit’s specialty. The client was from a rather large clan, you see, and they all seemed to share the same… proclivities. I was forced to buy holy water in bulk to satisfy their requests. Angelus has repaid his debt to me, and then some, and he has made a small church near the Cleveland Hellmouth very rich.” 

Spike knew firsthand what it felt like to mix holy water with dangly bits and he unconsciously covered himself with his hands as he swallowed several times to avoid decorating the living room with his lunch. He shuddered then moved his hands back to his sides and straightened his spine. “What ‘bout his arms and legs?”

Blazczak shrugged. “They served no purpose and were in the way, so they were removed.”

“And they didn’t grow back? My feet and fingers grew back after one of my renters chewed them off.”

“They would partially regenerate during the ten-hour healing period between clients, but would be trimmed down again as part of the preparation for the next client. They will grow back eventually if you feed him enough, but if you’d like them restored sooner, I could have some sustaining fluid delivered to you, and he’ll have them back in about three days.”

Spike shuddered again as he shook his head then stared down at Liam for several minutes. “So he’s spent twenty years strapped to a table havin’ his danglies burned off with holy water and his limbs cut off twice a day?”

“We didn’t start removing his limbs until the second year, but for the most part, yes, although some clients paid for other services.”

Spike looked up at Blazczak. “Such as?”

Blazczak looked at Spike skeptically. “You really want to know?”

Spike backed up and sat down on the love seat. “Not really, but my demon needs to know. He has to make sure there’s no more retribution to be had.” Spike leaned back and scrubbed his hands over his face then he looked at Blazczak. “I assume there was a fair bit of rape, right? Huge demon cocks splittin’ him open?” 

Blazczak nodded. “Yes, he serviced approximately 85% of his clients in that fashion, with most also paying for additional services such as the syringes. Some clients preferred to utilize his mouth, and one client had a standing monthly appointment to pull out all his teeth before he...”

Spike held up a hand. “Yeah, I’ve got it. Was he whipped? Beaten?”

“Quite often with a variety of tools and appendages.”

“What else?”

“One client came in every week to harvest his eye balls, nose, ears, tongue, lips, nipples, and genitals.”

Spike’s eyes widened and he blurted, “Harvest them? For what?”

“To make stew.”

“Stew…” Spike gagged, very nearly losing his lunch, then he swallowed hard, clapping his hands down on his thighs as he stood. “And that’s enough. My demon’s satisfied.”

Blazczak nodded. “Then I shall go.”

“Take him with you.”

“Pardon me?”

“I don’t want him. You can keep him.”

Blazczak looked down at what was left of the vampire then shook his head. “His performance has been steadily declining these past few weeks and I very nearly had to refund the fees of his last two clients because of it. I have gotten all the use out of him that I can. If I had not promised to return him to you, I would have disowned him when his service time was up.” 

“What about the stew bloke? Think he’d want him?

“Undoubtedly.”

“All right. Give him to that bloke then.”

Blazczak smirked over at Spike. “I would, but he died recently. He choked to death on a piece of stew meat.” He took a step away from Liam and said, “Our business is concluded. Enjoy your unit,” then he disappeared. 

Spike blinked at the suddenly empty space then sighed. “Well… bugger.” 

Buffy’s shaky voice came from the hallway. “Spike? Is he gone?”

“Blazczak is. Liam isn’t.”

Buffy stepped into the living room, carefully keeping her gaze averted from the vampire on the floor. “What are you going to do with him?”

Spike looked at Liam then sighed again. “The only thing I can.” He walked over to Buffy and took her gently by the elbow, steering her toward the bedroom. “You probably don’t want to be here for this. I need to do it quickly, hopefully before anybody notices he’s back in this dimension, or the bloody lawyers will just resurrect him. I’ll come to you when it’s over.” 

She stopped and looked up at him. “I’ll help if you need me to.”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine, kitten, and I don’t want you to see any more than you already have. I know we share the burden of what’s happened to him, but since he’s still technically family, he’s my mess to clean up.”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting for you.” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him tight against her, whispering against his shoulder. “The vacuum is in the hall closet.” She squeezed him hard then let him go and turned toward the bedroom.

Spike watched until she’d shut the door then he turned back toward the living room. He walked over to Buffy’s weapons chest and took a stake out of it then walked over to Liam and squatted down beside him, reaching out to poke his shoulder with the stake. 

Liam slowly opened his eyes and focused on Spike. A flicker of recognition flashed in them and then tears started coursing down his cheeks as he whispered, “Please kill me.”

Spike granted his request.

XX  
XXXX  
XX

Spike stepped into the bathroom, unbuttoning his jeans. “I’m gonna shower again, pet.”

Buffy nodded then unwrapped the towel from her damp hair. She walked over to Spike and loosely wrapped her arms around his waist. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged as he pulled her tight against his chest. “Not sure yet. Need to think for a bit.”

“Are we still gonna do this? The blood bond?”

“Only if you want to.”

Buffy leaned back a little then raised a hand to cup his cheek. “Nothing’s changed for me, Spike. I want you. I love you.” She moved her hand to her neck, brushing her fingertips across the bite scar. “And I want your mark here.”

He pulled her against him again and laid his cheek on her head. “All right, luv. Just give me a bit of time to get my head sorted.”

“Okay. If you need me…”

He squeezed her tighter and murmured into her hair. “I’ll call out, I promise.”

She squeezed him back and said, “I’ll be waiting,” then she turned and left the bathroom.

Spike watched her go then slid out of his jeans and turned on the water in the shower. He made it as hot as he could stand then stepped under the spray and stood there, letting it wash over him. He stood there for a long time.


End file.
